The Redhead Twins Job
by Valawenel
Summary: Nate and Sophie meet Eliot, Parker and Hardison in Phoenix, and get caught into the middle of someone else's case. One day after The SNAFU Job, and The Rundown Job. No.7 in The Texas Mountain Laurel series. CHAPTERS 5 AND 6 - T RATING.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

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"_Due to severe dust storm closing in on Phoenix, all scheduled flights are postponed until further notice_." A female voice from the speakers brought silence across the huge airport hall. For one moment hundreds of people stood motionless. Murmur was the first sound, murmur that grew into growl; then hundreds of voices reacted at the same time.

"That's just great," Hardison said to a tiny redheaded gnome that clutched his hand with sticky fingers. "That means your mummy won't miss her flight searching for you. We'll find her in a second. Just don't wail again, okay? That's a very disturbing sound."

Sniffing came from his knee level. His suspicions about the origin of sticky fingers almost confirmed.

"Dust storms are cool," he said when no answer came. "It's like a tiny cloud. A cloud full of …well, dust. I guess, never actually seen one before."

He should've just pushed the child into the arms of the first official and leave, but her fingers clutched at his like claws; if she could she would probably wrap herself around his leg like a monkey. He _could_ find her mother; he was taller than most of the people gathered here. He would start by searching for a redheaded woman, as the girl's hair was glowing like a GM carrot with a fluorescent gene. He needed to track a similar nuance in the crowd. She should never be let to walk by the road at night - a mess with traffic lights would be horrible.

"I guess it would be wise to just raise you up and shake you, let your curls send signals to any members of the redhead tribe nearby," he said.

"I need to go potty." A whisper came from below.

"Ack," he quickened his pace, pulling the gnome after him. "No way I'm doing _that_. Just…no."

He had to be honest; this wasn't a nuisance, more of a welcomed intermezzo. A little distance between him, Parker and Eliot, was useful and relaxing. The latter pair had been bickering for the last two hours. Parker was nervous and hungry and Eliot was in his most annoying phase; the one when he knew he was wrong, when he was paying for being wrong, yet unable to admit he was being stupid. Flying cross-country with two fresh bullet holes made their hitter into a teeth-gritting, snarling bundle of barbed wire. Eliot had almost passed out when the girl bumped into him, so this retreat was much better than dealing with a man who cherished invincibility as an art form. And who was now forced to face his own limitations.

A twinkle of vivid orange drew Hardison's attention and he turned left, forcing his way through the unified hissing of pissed off passengers. "Here's your mummy," he picked the girl up so she could see a woman standing by a wall. If her hair wasn't enough proof, another girl that was with her definitely was. She was identical to this one. "And a sister," he added. A tall man in a suit must've been a father, he stood closely to the side.

The woman turned her head to him, and he waved.

Hardison had expected to see relief in the eyes of a mother, but in the moment her gaze fell upon the girl in his arms her face visibly changed. Pain and despair escaped in tears pouring down her face.

He slowed his own footsteps.

In an instant the woman turned grabbing a bag by her feet and hurled it in the opposite direction, hitting one chair. The tall man turned glancing after the bag. Hardison had time only to stop mid step when the woman leapt into action once more, shoving the man in the back with both hands. While he regained his balance, she grabbed the second girl and ran toward him.

Shoving the girl towards him she blurted out, "I'm a hostage! Take them away, save them!" she pushed the girl into his hands; the suit grabbed her and pulled her back.

One breath later, the suit was standing two inches from his face. Hardison still clutched the girl; now he instinctively pulled the other one closer.

"Excuse me, this is private-" But the man never finished his sentence.

"It is me you need," the woman said, her eyes conveying one last plea before darting away into the busy Terminal. She disappeared through one group of Scandinavian tourists.

The man spat a curse, torn between two targets. "Stay here!" He barked at Hardison before taking off into the crowd after the mother. His hand went to his ear while he ran, in a familiar movement; he wasn't alone here and he was calling a backup.

Stood stock still at the scene which had played out before him, Hardison had no idea what had just happened. He knew only one thing; he had to clear out.

One girl was crying and the other was heading for loud screams; too many curious eyes were on him already.

He grabbed them both tighter and headed back towards where he'd left the others.

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His fingers trembled.

Eliot kept both his hands in the pockets of a jacket. It eased a pressure on the bullet hole in his right shoulder, but more importantly, it hid the treacherous shaking from the rest of the team; especially from Hardison. Letting him see how bad he felt would mean admitting that the hacker was _right _when he warned him that this was too much. There wasn't any alternate universe in which that option would be considered a good one.

He had been stood two steps behind Parker, Nate and Sophie. Hardison went to get rid of some noisy brat that screamed around them. The girl had bumped into him, hitting with immaculate precision the bullet hole in his leg. His vision had blurred more and he pushed more energy into his bland stare and casual posture. _Nothing to see here, move along_. He was fine, able to do his job – but still he avoided Nate's eyes. Nate was listening to Parker's explanation of _hundreds of dead pigs_, but his eyes were calm. And steady. And on him, not on Parker. There was nothing assertive in the way their Boss watched him, but it pushed him into his defensive posture nevertheless.

All his senses screamed security breach, attacked with hundreds of voices around them. He knew he felt that way because of the shitty state he was in, yet it didn't calm his unease. Morning crowd at the main airport hall moved too fast for his blurred vision. He couldn't do his usual scan-check of faces and quick paces around them, it would make his dizziness worse, but he could check people sitting near them. Long rows of plastic chairs were full of faces that didn't move or jump, or blur.

He stood, trying not to collapse, and scanned row after a row, slowly; he set his face into a blank mask and radiated his move-away-_now_ vibe.

And not only was the hacker right when he had told him that flying from Washington DC to Portland only several hours after getting shot, was stupid and dangerous – but Hardison was also awfully reasonable about it. Another sting and poke in his already shaken pride.

Of course it was stupid. Of course it was dangerous. As if he didn't know that. But they had to be in Portland as soon as possible, and there was nothing else to do.

This layover in Phoenix – though it eased their worry about Nate and Sophie when they miraculously joined them out of nowhere – was at the same time a good opportunity to rest and catch a little breath, but also a reminder that they had almost three hours more to fly to get to Portland. He was oscillating between growling and whining; both would tell them how lousy he felt, so he simply kept his mouth shut.

He planned to barely survive this reunion._ Course of action: step one – stay on your feet until they found out why their planes landed. Step two – get back in the plane ASAP. Step three – sleep_.

He was sure he could manage. There wasn't any point in letting Sophie and Nate see that their voices were amongst the many which melted into a white noise along with all other sounds around them.

He concentrated on step one, carefully pulled his hands from his pockets, crossing them, and dug his heels into a concrete floor.

The next moment, Sophie was standing in front of him, completely blocking his view. The grifter's eyes lit with a smile, but there was that dangerous narrow, barely visible to an untrained eye. People generally narrowed their eyes lowering the upper eyelid. Sophie Deveraux raised her lower ones. One millimeter was enough to put that predatory hunger into her gaze.

She moved her index finger left and right, pointing at his general direction. He observed her crimson nail polish, and stayed silent.

"So?" she said. "You look relaxed, I'd almost say content. Oh, and nice."

_I look like I might collapse_. He knew there would be questions about his trip to Boston, but he hoped she would wait until they got home.

She paused. "May I ask about that decision, what triggered it?" He still said nothing, watching Sophie _choosing_ her words. "Or for what reason? A change is good – but knowing when it happened, can we take it as an omen of more changes to come?"

Okay, now was the time to concentrate, her words didn't make any sense. What changes to come? "What triggers? What are you talking about?"

"That," she waved her finger again. "Your hair."

He blinked once. Yeah, he cut his hair, but they knew, they saw him- nope. Only Nate saw him when he came back from Afghanistan, and he obviously hadn't mentioned anything to the others. Sophie had no idea when it happened. And that could only mean that she thought… _Jesus_. He felt blood pumping to his face. "I didn't cut my hair in Boston! I did it in a military base on the other side of a world. What are you implying – that it was some, some… suggestion that I obeyed, or, or-"

"And why would that be a bad thing?" Sophie tilted her head a little, her eyes becoming disturbingly bright. "Even if Florence suggested, or asked you to cut-"

"No names. Geez, you people really don't know anything about privacy, security, protection-"

"Oh, spare me!" She rolled her eyes. "We've been practically living in each other's minds for years. And I was a knee deep in your tragic tilting around each other. I want to know everything. Every. Bloody. Thing."

He swallowed, he couldn't help it. Sophie on a mission – that was the most terrifying thing he could imagine. "No," the word escaped in a low growl. "Too much is at stake, I won't risk- I didn't joke when I said no names. I'm serious. I will tell you…bits, eventually, but from now on, I wasn't in Boston at all. I was in … Russia."

"Oh dear, are you starting with code names now? She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Not. Joking."

She sighed and stepped back. "Okay. Just one more thing." She hesitated a little and brightness left her eyes. He could see a thousand questions whirling inside, suppressed. "Are you…okay?"

He knew what she was asking. The thousand questions in one – his reply would answer them all. Before he could think of something to say, he felt a treacherous smile emerging. No way to stop it; he couldn't control a damn smile that flashed every time he thought of _her_. Sophie didn't wait for his words. She didn't have to, damn grifter. Her face gleamed and she tapped his forearm, a light touch. It has sentences and sentences in it. He nodded.

She darted one look beside him. "Details of your Russian quest will have to wait for a better time," she said. He quickly turned around.

Hardison returned with one more girl identical in every detail, from long red locks to tiny backpacks and yellow shoes. Even before Eliot saw his eyes, he knew he could wave goodbye to his sleeping on the plane.

Hardison's eyes screamed trouble almost as loud as the twin girls wailed in stereo.

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Eliot had to choose if he would listen, or observe the surroundings; there was no strength and concentration for both. Nate's gaze became steady and attentive while he listened to Hardison's quick explanation, and that decided it for him. Observing.

He took one step back and to the side.

There. Three guys. Dark grey suits and lazy steps. Their suits flashed government agency from a mile away. How the hell Hardison managed to involve them in trouble with God knows who, in only three and a half minutes?

He took one more step back and stood closer to one woman with a large backpack. She studied her tablet, not noticing him in her personal space. He opened his stance toward her, making them a pair, separating himself from the small group with two girls.

"No time for explaining, we have clients, just move already! Parker, Eliot, lead the way, and _smile!_" Hardison stopped mid-speech. The hacker looked at him, read his stance and his back went stiff as if he sensed the three guys approaching from behind him.

Nate didn't need anything more. "Parker, a diversion please."

The suits spread out and Eliot changed his mind. No government professional would keep that lazy, predatory slide while trying to come closer unnoticed; they were glaring in a crowd of busy, fast people. They could be bodyguards or someone's security, or just paid muscles. But, one of them was talking into his earpiece. Government or not, they weren't alone in here.

The giant circular sliding door was over two hundred meters away; before they reached the exit, all their security would gather from all sides and block it.

Nobody noticed Parker disappearing, but neither was anybody surprised when her voice wailed out from the other side of the hall.

"A bomb! They have a _bomb_!" The sheer terror and desperation in her voice pierced even through him, catching his breath; the effect it had to ordinary people was devastating. A movement started as a trickle, people heading for the exit – but in a few seconds, a river of bodies burst the sliding door and poured out. The chaos had exploded with screams and yelling.

"Follow them, but don't get caught in panic!" Nate pushed Hardison and Sophie before himself, each dragging one girl. Then he turned to him. "Eliot…" He watched the suits who were no longer hiding, they charged at them.

Well, with one good arm and leg, this should be interesting. "Take 'em away – find a big car," Eliot took two careful steps – okay, to be honest, it was more of a limp - closer to the first row of seats, now empty. "Wait four minutes, then leave," he added as an afterthought.

He didn't check what Nate did. The suits assessed the situation correctly; a man was left to buy some time for the others. _Remove the man, continue after the others_, he knew how they thought. Simple and efficient.

He needed a weapon.

His right shoulder was stiff and any uncontrolled movement would make new damage, but he wasn't crippled. He was just pissed off. Those three men should've thought better than to ruin his plans about sleeping on the plane.

He gave them one more second – the nearer they came, the less he had to walk – and then bent down and caught the row of plastic seats with both hands. The right hand was more for balance than for strength now – the left did the tearing apart. Five seats were connected with metal poles, attached to the floor on both ends.

The suits hit the brakes when he straightened up with a plastic barricade. Massive, yet light enough to handle with ease. Light enough to be raised – with his left arm – and swirled above his head.

"Let's dance." He smiled.

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"Low profile, low profile," Hardison murmured in a rhythm with their steps. Nate was certain he was talking to calm the girls down; they hadn't stop crying since the first step. The hacker carried one girl; Sophie wrapped her green scarf around the girl's hair, and that was a wise move. People would remember a tall black guy with a curly redhead child. Nate knew well that even in a panic, images stayed carved into people's minds. And low profile they needed indeed.

Sunlight hit their eyes when they burst out. They all caught their breaths as if they sailed into hot dough; no air to breathe, just hot stickiness that engulfed them. _Welcome to Arizona_. Nate loosened his tie. No time to get rid of his suit jacket, they had more important things to do.

A small group was invisible in a mass of people running away, some of whom were still screaming. Nate let Hardison and Sophie choose their way to any of the parking lots; he stayed behind observing, searching. There was no one behind them. He didn't expect a chase, but police sirens were closing in. They had maybe two minutes before police swarmed the place.

"We should've stayed inside, Nate," Sophie said over her shoulder. "A cover of a crowd is much better than this. Hardison, what on earth happened there?"

"A woman managed to push the kids to me, said she was a hostage, nothing more. Nate, Sophie might be right – we should stay close to her. What if they take her-"

"No," Nate said. "Retreat, until we find out whom we are dealing with. Keep walking."

They faced a clusterfuck at the parking lot. Hundreds of cars tried to go out at the same time, and air filled with sirens and honking. Angry engines roared. Hot asphalt vibrated, sending dust into heavy air.

"This is madness – we'll never be able to-" Sophie yelped and jumped away when one truck driver slammed his door open, jumping out to deal with a SUV that was blocking his way. She quickened her steps, but Hardison caught her arm to stop her.

"We need a van, not a car," Hardison pointed at one possible target. A white delivery van was parked at the far end, near the wire fence. Old and rusty, nothing that would stand out. "Fence has removable parts, to avoid fuckups just like this one. They will soon open it, or we'll do it for them."

Hardison was right. Five of them, with two kids, would need a lot of space. Nate turned to the airport door, but Eliot and Parker weren't in sight. He checked all cameras around them, covering the better part of this parking lot, and along the way they came. "Can you two open the van, or we'll have to wait for Parker?" he asked them, inviting them to continue walking with a wave of his hand. Standing amidst moving people wasn't clever. Security would examine every camera recording later, and that could draw attention to them.

"It depends," Hardison tapped his laptop bag on his shoulder. "Hacking might take a few minutes, and my battery is low. Parker would need eleven seconds for this type of van."

"You'll start, and we'll see-"

"I have to pee!" a muffled cry came from a bundle in Hardison's arms; the girl tried to free herself, flailing her arms around them.

"Perfect," Nate said.

"What the hell is perfect in-"

"Sophie will take her." He ran over Hardison's words. "And make sure it's near the van and well visible. We'll just rest by the van while we wait – all normal, girls have to pee even in a panic – and then just drive away."

"If our luck holds, the security officer who checks the cameras will just glance away and continue," Sophie finished. They exchanged girls, Hardison got another one. Nate hid a smirk when the hacker sighed, looking at the same face, but facing a different shrieking frequency. That one was crying all the time, and her face was a slimy mess.

"Hurry up," Nate said, resting his back on the van.

First police cars arrived, and blue uniforms poured out. But Nate watched only the second wave of vehicles – five dark vans carried the real threat: heavily armored riot cops and SWAT teams.

He listened to Hardison's typing, until the new noise covered everything with roaring and dust. Two helicopters had arrived. Their rotor blades swirled hot air, hitting his face in heavy waves. Nate started a countdown.

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"Ouch, ouch!" Parker's voice ruined Eliot's concentration; he had to push himself off the ground with his one good leg, place a final hit with it, and land back on the same leg. Her comment caught him mid-air and his flight almost ended in splattering himself all over the target; the last man standing. A very disturbing image of Will E. Coyote frozen in thin air above the abyss one second before the fall crossed his mind. It was enough to mess his coordination, and as a result his wounded leg took the entire impact when he landed.

He finished the man with one generous swing of the seats, and placed the row over the groaning heap of three bodies.

He darted one pissed-off glare at Parker; the thief smiled.

"I crushed two cameras covering this part," she said. "Don't know if there's more, we have to clear out. Security is-"

"Stay right there!" A yell came from somewhere behind them.

"-here." She finished with the same gleam. "Can you walk? Do you want me to find something to-"

"Don't even say it, Parker!"

"But-"

"Just run."

He turned around, quickly checking all obstacles, gritted his teeth and sprinted as best he could. The thief's lithe shadow followed just a step behind. The first ten steps were excruciating agony; he had spared the leg by knowing he would need a quick retreat, but this put his entire strength on a very dangerous test. The risk of stumbling or passing out was very real, and more and more likely every second.

The suits had occupied him for almost two minutes. While the panic around them was calming down, where most people escaped, there were still too many people to avoid. His pace faltered. The chase was nearing them with steady thumps of heavy shoes following them.

They were just fifty meters from the door when blue uniforms galloped in with the same speed they were running at them. They were just seconds from a complete lock down; he slowed a bit, assessing their chances. He could knock a few of them down, use their bodies to block the circulating door, keeping one side open for Parker, and-

She dashed beside him, and her fingers jabbed into his forearm, stopping him with a painful jerk. "I need a help here!" her voice rose. She clutched his arm and pushed him closer to the first policeman. "I think my husband is having a heart attack! Help us!"

His leg gave way and he stumbled right when the cop looked at them – he could always say it was deliberate acting.

The cop waved at them. "Clear the perimeter, Ma'am, no stopping-"

"We need a medical assistance!" she yelled, grabbing the cop's arm. All around them, heavy armored cops spread in the line; five of them were at the door.

"Fine, move - we have ambulances outside – you just can't stay here!" He waved to an officer at the door to let them pass, and Parker dragged Eliot after her. A few other passengers were stopped and directed to other gathering places. They passed the door at the last moment – after them, police barricades were put up. The airport was sealed.

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Nate saw Parker and Eliot as they staggered toward the ambulances. At this distance he couldn't tell if they were driven by need, or if they were acting. They disappeared from his sight before he could decide.

"Hardison, progress?" he un-crossed his arms and checked – impatiently – how Sophie and the second girl were doing, as every parent and husband would do in this panic.

"Minutes, Nate, can't hurry up Mother Nature."

Nate closed his eyes when he felt a change on his face. Hot wind swirled the dust around with the same strength, but the sun wasn't burning his skin anymore. Somewhere high above them a veil went over the sun, and all colors dulled.

For the cameras sake, he checked his watch once, then paced a few steps up and down alongside the van. Even seconds were dangerous now – minutes were deadly. He spared a few glances towards the ambulances. No familiar faces in sight.

"Hey you, what are you doing with my van!?" A man appeared from behind their backs; he had keys in his hand, and he stopped when he saw Hardison's laptop. "Sonofabitch… police! Somebody!" his voice rose, and a few heads turned in their direction. "Help, police, they're steal- urgh-" One forearm wrapped around his neck, cutting off his words.

"Any ideas?" Eliot asked still holding the van owner in a deadly grip. He pulled him two steps closer to the van and rested his shoulder on its side; almost casually. His attempts to hide how much he spared his leg were truly pathetic. Nate put him into the 'severely incapacitated' category, and changed a few calculations in his mind.

Parker darted past them and went to the driver's door. Eleven seconds might be too much now, Nate knew, watching the commotion around them, noticing the cops' heads turning in their direction.

"Sophie, bring the kids, we're clearing out," Nate said, covering the hurry in his voice with one more lazy glance at his watch. "Move it, move!"

Locks clicked, and Nate opened one door. Parker jumped into driver's seat and in five seconds, just how long Sophie needed to bring the kids closer, the engine came to life.

The owner's face still wasn't purple; a way Eliot held him could – from the distance – look as a friendly hug. But there was nothing friendly in the hitter's eyes. "This is a mistake, Nate," Eliot said. "We must stay-"

"No time, Eliot, get in!"

The hitter swallowed the rest of the sentence, and slammed the owner into one car. Rage he radiated was like a visible cloud around him.

Sophie and Hardison scrambled inside, dragging the girls with them.

"No! Don't' want to go! I want my mummy!"

"That's it," Eliot growled. _Bad move_. Their screams went into shrieks. The hitter grabbed their tiny Hello Kitty backpacks, raised them both in the air, and swung them into the van. "Move already!" Eliot growled at him, and Nate jumped in the last.

Parker didn't wait for Nate to close the door behind them, and when she whirled the van he almost fell out. Hardison caught him and the door, pulling him inside at the last moment.

The last thing Nate saw before the door slammed shut was the shocked face of the owner, and his hand pulling out a phone.

They smashed open the fence and went through.

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The van was some sort of a mini bus, with three rows of seats. And it wasn't designed for Parker's driving; violent jerks and speed set a constant tremble in the old construction. All of them used both hands, spread to both sides, to keep themselves in their seats. Sophie took the girls behind and tucked them together in a corner seat. Her quiet whisper calmed them down. But no quiet whisper could ease the tension in the rest of the van.

"Nate, what the hell are you thinking?" the shroud around Eliot went thicker, fueled with anger – and Nate saw it clearly – a lot of suppressed pain. The hitter's face was deadly pale. He used only his left arm to hold himself steady between two seats. "We created a panic to cover our asses, a mass of people – now we are running away, marked as child kidnappers, open targets in a fucking _white van_!"

"Prepare for trouble," Hardison said pointing through the window; police sirens grew louder. "I'm trying to infiltrate police channels- yep, here they are," Hardison put his phone on speaker, and female voice said, "_All units, all units – ongoing car chase. Possible suspects wanted in conjunction with a terrorism threat. Confirmed suspects in conjunction with child kidnapping. All units, all units: 207, 215, 240, 505A. Be on the lookout for a white van, suspects are considered armed and dangerous_."

"505A?" Parker yelped. "I'm not driving _recklessly_! I have total control-"

"Other codes, Parker?" Nate said.

"Kidnapping, carjacking, assault."

Hardison was still looking through the window. "They're after us. And not only police – there's another two dark cars behind them, probably full of our friends in the suits."

"Of course they are after us, when we just kidnapped two kids!" Eliot's rage didn't calm down. Nate noticed when he stopped balancing his weight, sparing the wounded leg. "We could've used the mess and confusion to separate, stay in the crowd and keep low-"

"Bullshit," Nate said.

That silenced them all. The engine continued to howl. "Come again?" Eliot's voice went into a low rasp. Eliot Spencer, angry, deranged with pain, and hovering over him in a tight space - every normal person would jump out that instant. The girls let out one quiet keening sound and Eliot glanced over his head to the back of the van. Nate knew, even before the hitter rolled his eyes, what kind of dead-stare Sophie darted from her seat.

But the girls weren't important now. "I know what I'm doing," Nate said. He leaned back into his seat, watching the two of them. Hardison closed his laptop, put away the phone, and put both his hands on the laptop. "You see, the airport is sealed," Nate continued. "Five wanted criminals could separate and disperse in a crowd, but it was too risky. Response time for terrorism threats are shorter and shorter, you saw how fast they were. We would be caught. Now, we won't be."

"You don't know that," Eliot said, this time with effort and without growling. "But I can tell you that our chances are much worse now."

As if confirming his words, a new noise joined the police sirens – a helicopter engine. Eliot hissed a curse that thankfully didn't reach the back, and moved to the other row of seats. Helicopter was on their left, flying low.

"That's it, we're screwed. I can't fight a fuck-" he stopped himself. "I can't fight a helicopter! A car chase of this sort is a dead-end, no way to escape-"

"Stop, wait. Lets' see what we have here," Hardison's hands remained deadly still. "Five wanted criminals who kidnapped two kids, in a stolen van, running from a terrorism threat they probably caused, chased with police cars and helicopters, and completely unable to escape. And you're sayin' we won't be caught? Nate?"

"Nate!" Parker turned in the driver's seat. "I have to choose now – head for the desert, or turn to Phoenix."

"Desert," he said.

"What?!" both Hardison and Eliot said at the same time.

"Only in traffic might we have a slim chance, not in the open-

"Okay, enough!" Nate cut Eliot off, and straightened up. "The airport would be a kill box for us. The mother was a hostage, and faced with us and police, with her captors behind her, she would confirm we snatched the children from her. Our IDs are aboard our planes. Three of you came with a private jet, which would be searched. We came with a regular carrier, and all our bags are full of false IDs, bugs, and incriminating surveillance equipment. We didn't have time even to see which aliases we are using. They would need twenty minutes for identification, remember? All our crime records, everything, would be in their hands, and with riot cops and SWAT teams trigger happy because of this crisis, we would be in real trouble. Real. Trouble." He stopped for a few seconds, watching his words sinking in. "And the most important thing," he continued when he saw their thoughts speeding up. "Eliot, let me guess… you weren't in hospital, were you?"

"Of course not, it wasn't necess-" Eliot stopped when he got it.

"And one of us has two bullet holes, only several hours old, and no medical records that would say when or what happened." He finished with a pale smile. "I _do_ pay attention to all details, you know? That's what I do."

"Okay," Eliot's word came short and low, but the rage had calmed down. "But the airport fuck-up is nothing compared to this one we're heading in to, Nate. No way to escape this chase with a helicopter. On the open road, road blocks are only a matter of minutes away."

"As I said, details. You missed one important thing."

Hardison's face froze, but it wasn't a reaction to his words. The hacker had glanced to Parker, and his head stayed turned in that direction, glued at the road.

"Not in a mood for quizzes, Nate," Eliot said. "What detail?"

"Erm, Eliot," Hardison nudged him with his elbow, still not moving, and the hitter looked at him. Hardison's eyes were so wide open that it seemed they would pop out and hit the windshield like champagne corks.

Nate patiently waited for Eliot to turn around and follow Hardison's gaze out toward the desert in front of them.

Eliot's face went one shade whiter.

Everything in the van grew darker.

"What the hell…" the hitter whispered, staring at the dark wall emerging before them. It grew from a desert, hundreds of feet tall, rolling toward them.

The helicopter shrieked in agony while taking a quick turn right above their heads. Turned around and ran back to safe airspace.

"You forgot the reason why our planes had all landed," Nate's voice sounded dull; it seemed that the dust storm sucked in all the air around them. Their collision was only a matter of seconds now – the sun got sucked into a whirl first, and faces in the van became grey shadows.

'_Woo hoo'_ from Parker was the last thing they heard before the storm lashed at them. A blast turned the daylight into a howling darkness, thundering sand whipping them like a myriad of bullets.

A storm swallowed them.

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	2. Chapter 2

TRTJ – Chapter 2

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To be honest, he _did_ fight a helicopter once. It was a fair fight, though it resulted in a draw; the beast had almost won. It wasn't easy to perform the equivalent of a blood choke on metal substitutes for vertebrae, while the same nasty thing tried to lift off in fast circles. He flew more than fifty feet. He didn't get up for three hours – but the helicopter didn't take off at all. Good times.

Eliot had no intention of repeating it now, so the helicopter's retreat was good news.

However, the line of police cars that followed them into this whistling hell, not so much.

Darkness was tinted with yellow; the sun above this impenetrable shroud was giving off a diffused light so they make out shapes and shadows whirling around them, but nothing else. He had no idea how Parker could drive at all, but he was pretty certain that the thief didn't watch anything. She probably just listened to the crunchy sound their tires made on asphalt. If she went off-road, she would feel bigger rocks. He listened to something else: sand that got under the windshield and the hood, invading every damn hole, and which screeched inside the old van.

He was the only one in the team who had been through a dust storm. He knew what even a short exposure could do to even heavy military equipment. An old minibus would be sentenced to a quick death the moment the first grains of sand had gotten inside.

"This isn't a car chase. This is Baywatch," Hardison said with a tone that was suspiciously close to gleefulness.

"Dammit, Hardison!" the words escaped before he could stop them. The last thing he needed in this fuck up was a hacker unaware of trouble they were in.

"What did I say? Looked through your window recently?" Hardison waved from the other row of seats. "This isn't a chase! We are going ten miles per hour, police following. We are crawling through this shit. That doesn't remind you of Pamela Anderson running by the ocean in a slow, slow-motion?" Hardison hand slowed down; he waved up and down, up and down. Yeah, the hacker was definitely mimicking the rising and falling of a tide. Eliot tried to hide a smirk, and failed.

But Parker stopped Hardison before he could elaborate further. "Police are just a couple of meters behind us," she said. "I can see their rotating lights between the gushes of wind. Nate? Do you want me to push them off the road?"

"No, Parker, try to lose them," Nate's voice was an echo of his stance; he sat in his seat as if he was taking a nap on a plane.

"We are travelling so slow that they could simply get out of their cars and run after us! Why are they still here? Phoenix must be in chaos now, they are needed-"

"Parker," Nate didn't change his voice, but her name sounded shorter this time. "They are saving two little girls from kidnappers. They won't give up. Would you?"

The thief said nothing.

Eliot gritted his teeth and got up from his seat. Three steps to Parker seemed harder than all the fighting and running at the airport had, when wounds got cold after too much stretching and tearing. Throbbing in his leg and shoulder was driving him crazy and immobility was the only thing that could ease the pain, but Nate's words were disturbingly accurate. The Police wouldn't give up on a chase, and if he knew anything about their way of thinking, they would soon close in and try something. He had to be ready.

"Eliot?" a call from the back seat stopped him; Sophie sounded gentle and playful. Good mixture for calming the scared kids. "We need the fourth Ninja Turtle. Would you join us here?" _Very bad mixture for speaking with severely pissed off hitter, Soph_.

"No, Soph, definitely _not_." He tried to sound normal and calm.

"Oh man, I thought before you were a bundle of barbed wire," Hardison's words showed him it didn't work. "But now I changed my mind. Bundle of electrified barbed wire, dipped in a curare."

How many years before these people would finally learn _not_ to poke at him when he was already angry?

"No, Eliot, I _need_ you here," the playful tone never left Sophie's voice, yet he knew, if he saw her smile, that her eyes wouldn't be smiling. He took a slow, careful turn and headed to the rear of the van. Both Nate and Hardison followed him with their eyes, and he stopped his limp. Nate was sitting one seat behind Hardison, watching the hacker's profile and Parker's back; if anything in this van was in slow motion, it was him. And that was a good sign – the most complicated plans came after his silences.

Sophie secured both girls in a seat together, in the corner, with seat belts and everything she had found in the van; bags, one blanket, a role of a duct tape. But when he saw what she had done with her green scarf, he knew he had been wrong. He wasn't the only one in the team that had endured dust storms before. She cut the scarf and made little masks for each girl. Eye openings were just big enough that they could see, and they could lower them and spread over their nose and mouth.

She had one mask ready for him. "My sunglasses are here, too," she said. Sunglasses under tightly wrapped mask were the only way to stop the sand from getting into the eyes. "Teheran, 2006," she smiled at his silent question. She knew he would have to go outside if the chase stopped them.

"Anything to drink around here?" he asked taking the mask and glasses. Water poured on the mask would be perfect, but even some juice would make a better barrier for breathing.

Her answer never came. The van swirled on the road and he lost his balance, barely managing to stop his own fall over the girls. His back, thank god, had stopped the shattered glass. Something hit them hard.

Parker kept them on the road; the wheels and brakes screamed louder than the girls for a few moments, but she returned them on some sort of course. Only then was he able to push himself up from the seat and look back to see what had happened. One tree branch crushed the window near Hardison's seat, carried on through the headrest, and stopped three inches from Nate's ear.

The storm broke in and sand whipped at them. He felt his way to Parker, with his eyes closed. At least he didn't need to curse quietly; the howling around them was too loud.

"Can't… see… shit…" a few words came to him through coughing, when he grabbed her shoulder to show her he was behind her.

"Close your eyes!" he yelled in her ear. One second to put the sunglasses on her eyes, another to wrap a mask around her head.

"We're dri... desert!" Hardison's voice came to them in waves. "What…tree?... come from?"

Eliot turned around; Nate and Hardison were trying to block the hole in the window with a torn seat. The howling inside the van fell, but too much sand was still flying.

Another hit. The van shook when something heavy rear-ended them. Broken glass tinged with red and blue flashes. They had slowed down, and the first police car bumped into them. More hits shook the van, as the rest of convoy followed the first one. They were all lucky – snail speed saved them from a nasty pile up.

"Take us off-road Parker!" Nate's order came through a grunt; he managed to lock the branch steady in the middle, from one window to another, using it to keep the seat pressed to the hole. "Get off the freeway and lose them!" The branch now divided the van, and Eliot had to bend down to pass back to them.

"On it!" Parker yelled back, and engine coughed sand when she hit the gas pedal. "A few cars stayed back, but the others are still after us!"

"Head to the hills. We can't risk crashing into someone in front of us!"

Eliot could hear, in spite all that noise, rhythmical thumps. Something started clanging under the hood.

Fewer bluish lights tailed them… but their flashes felt angry now.

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"I studied sand particles for Knudsen's mine and his monitors," Hardison said after one particularly nasty coughing fit, and Nate squinted. _Here goes the geek spiral_. Squinting, unfortunately, wasn't the best idea, with his eyes full of sand. Rubbing them just brought more tears. "Smaller ones are dangerous as hell," the hacker peeked from under a jacket he kept on his head. No grains were coming inside anymore, but the air was full of dust that was left behind. A thick mist lingered.

Eliot pulled down the hacker's jacket, and it fell again over his face.

"N't h'lping," a voice came under the jacket. "We're talkin' microns here, that shit goes throu-

"But voice doesn't. Shut up, Hardison, you're scaring the kids."

"No, I'm scaring _you_ – kids have no idea what microns are – if they were boys, they would think those are tiny Transformer minions-"

"Seriously? You're _scaring_ me? What-"

"Guys, guys, enough of that crap," Nate's snarl sounded nastier than he wanted. He swallowed; sand travelled down his throat like fire. Coughing would just make it worse. "I've had enough of- What's that smell?"

Eliot looked like he was about to avoid the answer, but then he met his eyes. Half-darkness didn't help to read his gaze, yet the tension in his shoulders was clear to Nate. "Burnt oil with a touch of electronics," he said. Hardison wiggled his way out of the jacket and sniffed. "Not alarming yet," Eliot continued, putting a smile in his voice. "We're going up now, motor is overwrought, and sand is everywhere. That's expected."

In fact, it was a miracle that they were still running. Eliot didn't have to say that. Five minutes had passed after they heard that something was wrong with the engine. The sounds were louder now.

Parker had found one freeway exit and she lost the police. Blue lights continued in a straight line; they could see them passing by their right-hand-side windows and disappearing in this madness around them. But those five minutes on the road that went uphill, with the storm raging even harder, were all too much for the van. It wasn't just them coughing – dying machinery coughed oil.

Nate nodded, acknowledging Eliot's attempt to smile, but he wasn't the one whom the hitter tried to deceive, anyway.

"We should find a way back to Phoenix," Hardison said. "Got rid of the cars chasing us – now it's time for hiding."

"We'll soon stop," Nate nodded. "Driving is too dangerous now. We'll check the van and see where we are. Police might stumble upon us again by chance and we don't know those smaller roads."

"I know Phoenix. We're near San Carlos Reservation," Sophie said from the back. "Complete wilderness, with very low traffic. We should be fine, once we stop."

"Okay, Parker, start looking for a good place to get off the road; if you can see anything."

"Not much, Nate. And what I can see isn't good enough. Narrow road, rocks, and cliffs. We're on the slope of a hill – wait until I get to lower parts again."

Hardison got up and pressed his nose to the glass; both Nate and Eliot stopped their reaching for him. Only thing he could see was a veil of flying sand, and blurry shapes of unidentified things they were passing by. Hardison grabbed his jacket and put it on, tapping his inner pockets, checking his tablet and phone for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes. The laptop was dead. There was no good signal here anyway, so he put everything away to protect them from the sand. Sometimes Nate thought that Hardison pulled energy from the batteries of his techno thingies, and fed on them. He obviously missed his fix, when nothing blinked in front of his nose. The only thing that blinked was a red light in front of Parker: _check the engine, check the engine_, a sign screamed in terrified shrieks by now.

Hardison pulled back from the window, and crushed into his seat. "How long can this storm last?" He turned sideways, then stretched his legs in the passage between two rows. Then pulled them back. Then tried to curl. Then gave up with a nervous hiss, and leaned back, under their line of sight. Nate knew that nervous energy the hacker radiated would only increase with every minute.

"Usually, dust storms can last from a few minutes to a few days," said Eliot. "Only real nasty ones can shut down an airport."

And Eliot radiated… nothing. They all sat sideways in their seats facing each other, their backs against the windows, and Nate had a clear view. Upon first glance one might think Eliot was perfectly fine, but Nate knew better. That was the hitter shutting down; he radiated complete nothingness, preserving strength, collecting and had seen him in this state too many times, and though Eliot looked comfortable, legs wedged in the narrow passage between the seats, Nate knew differently.

Nate didn't bother to ask him any direct questions – not until it was necessary – because he knew he would get just _I'm fine_, in a short snarl. But his posture was too damn motionless for snapping; when Eliot snarled and growled at them, he _was_ fine. Silence, and calm answers, were the things to be afraid of.

In the moments like this one, Eliot Spencer could be mistaken for a normal human being. A little slouched, seemingly soft and slow. An untrained eye would see only a tired man, immobile and very careful with any movement, nothing more.

Eliot felt his eyes studying him, and slowly turned his head from watching Hardison's squirming figure one seat along to where Nate was.

Nate would just wait for the hitter to answer the question he didn't have to ask, but dimmed light was making the reading difficult. So instead he said, "You okay?" He opted for a casual, by-the-way sort of a question. He needed to know what they could expect. There were jobs when everything depended on hacking, or grifting, and their ability to deliver their combined best. But there were also jobs like this one, when the stakes were higher, and protection came first. The hitter with two bullet holes, in situations like this, was every mastermind's nightmare.

Silence lasted for only a second, and Nate caught himself wishing Eliot would snap his question away.

"Of course I'm okay, Nate," a soft drawl deepened into molasses, completely different from his voice when he replied to Hardison. But under that softness was a challenging edge, a mental smirk of self-irony. "I'm always okay."

"Good to hear that. Because you might get a little busy before this is over."

"Countin' on that."

Oh, yes, he was, indeed. _Preparing_ for that. But the effort the hitter had to put into it, the sheer depth of his inner retreat, showed Nate how badly he really felt, how much strength was used to compensate weakness and pain.

What the hell happened in Washington? The _hundreds of dead pigs'_ explanation was short and it had barely touched the surface. It was yesterday, for crying out loud; a normal human being would be in SICU right now, on oxygen and beginning a long, slow recovery. This one, well, this one wasn't normal.

And if Eliot could ever be called deadly, it was now – incapacitated, on a high alert because of that, gathering in one place everything that made him – him.

A throaty, soft giggle from the back broke the moment. The girls were crying just a minute ago; nobody noticed when it changed into giggles. He stood up and peeked over their seat.

Two little turtles with masks cheerfully dug through their backpacks. The giggles grew when they pulled out pink plastic sunglasses. Sophie's head tilted to one side and she shooed him away before they noticed him. He retreated, but he could still hear them talking. Words and giggles, in two different voices, melted into one long sentence without any meaning, and they seemed perfectly aware of everything they said.

The wind changed direction before he returned to his seat, and the van swayed. Steady hits had swung them along the way, but now there wasn't a pause between the harsher gusts. The van endured one constant, hard squall that pushed from the right.

Parker's arms kept them on the road with heavy jerks, but thick air slammed at them in one tidal wave, pushing them off the road. Parker's moves seemed like erratic tries to keep them steady, yet everybody knew that every turn of the wheel was part of a precise calculation, trajectories and angles whirling in front of her eyes. Nate didn't bother to look at her, he kept his fascinated gaze on the branch a few inches from his face. They had fastened it and Hardison had even clung onto it with all his weight to check if it would hold. But now, the bark started to crack in layers, as the force from the other side tried to break in through the damaged window, bending the thick wood.

The branch was as thick as his forearm. In less than fifteen seconds, it snapped like a twig.

Hardison was the closest; in the same moment the crack sent two parts aside, he leapt to the seat that blocked the hole and pressed his back on it. "Okay, this is it! Parker, stop us!" the hacker yelled. Nate grabbed one half of the wood, but he could do nothing with it – so he threw it away and secured the seat with his shoulder. The remains of the glass were holding for now, but any moment it could shatter, leaving the gap which nothing here could fill.

Eliot, he noticed it just then, had kept sitting in the same position, turned to them.

"What?" Hardison snarled.

"You know, it's just sand," Eliot said. "You're being way too dramatic. If there were hordes of rabid wolves trying to rush in, then okay, I admit, it would be worth it. But spending all that energy to try and stop _sand_ from getting in…"

"Particles, Eliot, par- ti- cles! Do I have to spell silicosis to you? It gets into your lungs, and-"

"And you cough it out. C'mon, Hardison, pull the jacket over your head, and you'll live. Dust storms don't usually kill people. They're just unpleasant nuisances. Save your energy in case we have to walk-"

"What?! Walk in _this_?!" Hardison pressed the seat harder. "Even on Tatooine people didn't go out while dust storms raged and they-"

"Yeah, right. Now listen. Stay in a group, within reach; cover your face and breathe through a bit of cloth. If there's no shelter nearby, we have to head for a higher ground to avoid being buried when the sand settles down. So, no sitting or lying around unless inside or under some solid cover. You got it?"

"Any specific dangers?" Nate asked when Hardison just huffed.

"You saw that branch? The storm can hurl various shit at you, and you ain't gonna see that coming. That's why finding shelter is the only clever option. Walk only if you have to."

"I have to pee!" a small voice cut the hitter off.

Hardison turned to the girls. "What? Not again! You just-"

"Not me. Manny did."

"Manny? What kind of name is that for a girl? What's your name?"

"Mickey."

"Your Mom calls you that, right? What are your full names?"

"I have to pee."

"What's your Mom's name?"

"Mommy."

Nate hid a smile. Hardison's face was a mask of helpless confusion, he even forgot about the river of sand pressing at his back.

Eliot's eyebrows were high. He waited for the rest of it with a suspicious gleefulness. The hitter was also right in his comment, and Nate lowered himself on the seat, relaxing his stance against the broken window. They wouldn't be able to keep it closed all the time, and sand would get in. As long as Parker could see where they were heading, their coughing and red eyes weren't all that important.

"We shall think of something when we stop," Hardison finally said, then he turned his head to Parker. "Any good spot nea-?"

A brutal slam in the back end shook the van. Metal screeched; something below their feet snapped with an abrupt sound and the clanging grew louder. Hardison staggered. Another hit, stronger again, came before he could regain his balance, and he flew head first. Eliot grabbed the very edge of his jacket and stopped him, pulling him down.

"Stay there!" The hitter sprung on his feet. "Nate!"

He jumped up following him to the back, and swayed as something hit them for the third time, almost knocking them both down. Somehow standing firm, he grabbed Sophie and pulled her into the middle, passing her off into Hardison's arms; Eliot tore apart the seatbelts, and pulled the girls out.

Parker hit the gas pedal and the van rotated on the road, avoiding the car behind them. The seat that had been blocking the window came loose and flew over their heads, bumping at the other windows. In less than a second every last place or thing was full of sand. A cacophony of sounds, girls screaming, groaning of the engine and constant howl of the wind made it impossible to hear anything, to think anything.

But Eliot was right; it was just sand. It wasn't their enemy, but their ally.

"Keep 'em all down!" Eliot was yelling at Hardison who covered the girls with his jacket. He kept Sophie on her knees, blocking her other side. They all gathered in the middle. "Don't get up, or you're gonna fly all over! Parker?"

"Two cars! Not police, no blue lights! Black or dark! Avoiding 'em!"

"The suits! They were behind the police cars!" Hardison said. "They couldn't see us going off the freeway! This must be-"

"They knew we were here," Nate said lowering himself closer to them. He didn't have to yell now.

"No way, visibility-"

"The heck with visibility, they knew!" They could stumble upon them by chance, but that didn't hold water. The suits could get off the road later, and turn back, or choose the same road… but the chances were impossibly small.

Yet here they were, and they were trying to shove them off the road, knowing their prey was in this van.

"Sonofabitch," he said clearly, and straightened up.

"What?" Eliot said. "Where are you going, stay-"

He didn't listen, he crawled back a few steps, to the seat where Sophie and the girls sat, and grabbed their Hello Kitty backpacks. Another slam tore the back door and one part fell off, revealing the swirling darkness and two bright flash lights only a few meters behind them.

"Get back!" Eliot's voice, full of rage, stirred him from staring at the lights. He withdrew into the safe part, as one more hit pushed them aside.

He couldn't see shit, and the backpacks were small squares full of pink things, but he pushed his hand inside nonetheless and felt around, until something metal and cold caught his fingers. "Hardison?" he pulled the thing out, and one tiny red blink flashed before them.

"I'll be damned," Hardison hissed. "They bugged the kids, so not to lose them. We have to get rid of-"

"Not now," Nate returned the tracker to the backpack and closed it. "Damage is done, they can see us. They don't need to track us anymore. We'll use it later."

The van was heading to a nasty bend and for a second they were all pressed against the left side before Parker managed to straighten them up again. The lights that followed them were big; that must've been some heavy duty SUV, much better for these conditions than the old van.

Eliot was looking beside him in to the back hole, as if calculating how far the SUV was. _Target acquired_, crossed Nate's mind when he saw those hunter eyes. Sophie noticed that too, and her hand waved before the hitter's narrowed eyes. "Don't even think! Nate!"

Three quick, loud explosions responded before he could say anything.

"They're shooting!" Hardison spat a curse. "How the hell can they shoot in this-"

"They ain't afraid of a little sand, Hardison! They lowered a window, that's how!" Eliot snarled at him, but his gaze towards the back intensified. "Nate, they're shooting low, aiming for the tires. Not good."

_Not good indeed_. Until this moment, there was still a chance this was one major misunderstanding. The mother could be sick or deranged, the suits just following her, or protecting her, and chasing them to get the kids back. Police thought they snatched the kids, and the suits could have thought the same. But now, when the shots were fired, everything took on the new course. _Not good indeed_.

"But we got kids in here!" Hardison sounded as if he couldn't believe what was going on around him. "They're endangering _them_!" He wrapped his jacket around girls tighter, and pressed the small wriggling bundle to the floor. All four of them kneeled around, shielding them from the bumping, yet Nate knew it wasn't enough if those bullets started to fly higher.

"Can you lose them?" Nate yelled to Parker.

"Trying!" came her high pitched reply. "I'm losing power in lower gears, it's not responding well! And I can't see-"

The van rocked, the entire left side jumped in the air. _Big rock on the road_, Nate thought as one second crawled to eternity, while they balanced on their right wheels. For one heart beat it looked that Parker would regain control, he felt a slight lowering. But another strong gust of wind knocked them sideways.

The van turned on its side, and slid down a slope.

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A chaos of shattered glass and howling sand blinded them all. Nate could only try to keep Sophie pressed to her seat with one hand, while grasping both kids with the other. Nothing to see around them. The van ploughed down the hill, sucking in more sand and rocks, for what seemed like an eternity.

They hit something, all the seats flew into the air; the van slowly turned over onto its other side. He lost his grip on Sophie, something yanked her from his hand, and everything swirled while they were thrown around.

One more turn, and they finally stopped.

The howling slowed to whistling.

Disorientation hit him when he realized it was a roof under his back now. He heard coughing near him, but he was held down by one of the seats. Everything still spun around in painful circles before his eyes. It took several tries to push away the loose seat lying on his chest. When he tried to speak, only a croak escaped.

Sand in his mouth and nose was gritty and dry. He wiped something from his face, probably blood, and coughed his lungs out.

"You okay, man?" Hardison's strangled voice huffed near his shoulder; the hacker fumbled around them, disorientated as well.

"Everybody okay?" Nate finally managed to get his voice out. Unintelligible mumbling came from the front part. Sophie coughed on his left, and tiny stereo whimpering came from the same direction.

Hardison helped him to check the girls: too frightened to cry, to do anything but sob quietly, yet they were physically unharmed. Sophie was massaging her arms, sitting upright, stunned. Yellowish darkness gave enough light to see her reassuring nod.

Hardison stumbled near her, shaking his head. Nate obviously wasn't the only one with reality spinning in front of him. "This could actually be good," Hardison said. "I mean, no way can they find us here – they probably just carried on."

"No, they'll turn back and come directly here. Trackers. We need to clear out." Nate slowly turned towards the front side. "You two, able to walk?"

"Can't open my seat belt," Parker's mumbling came from above, and Nate blinked a few times, trying to see her silhouette, still in the driver's seat, hanging upside down. Hardison grumbled something and sprung to her aid.

"Eliot?" Nate asked when no one else replied.

Silence.

"Stay with them," he said to Sophie. He pushed away all seats, and checked under the bent side door, now ajar. Nothing.

They turned over two times, and Eliot could have been thrown out when they hit the last obstacle before finally stopping. Nate tried not to think what this tossing around did to his injuries; the hitter wasn't in the shape to be bounced around. Maybe he hadn't even been able to hold tight to something, or steady himself, like the others had.

He pushed his head out through the door. "Eliot!" The word dispersed on the wind, reaching no more than two steps.

Hardison and Parker joined him. "What? Where is he?"

"Search around the van," he said jumping out. They followed him into the storm; even Hardison didn't hesitate for a second.

What damn searching, how? This felt as if he'd been caught in a blender with banana and blueberries; veils spinning around him, blocking his eyesight. He used his jacket to cover his face, leaving only eyes unprotected, but sand pierced his skin like needles. He could see only blurred curtains of sand whipping at him. No dark shapes on the ground, no bodies lying nearby.

"Eliot!" he called once more, but the word got caught in another whirl, and fell to the ground by his feet.

Hardison and Parker circled around the van, bowed and fighting the wind. No luck on their side, he read their gestures when they met again at the back.

"We… spread…. You …to the left side." Hardison's words flew to him, but he stopped and covered his eyes. Thinking.

"Get in!" he pointed at the van, and turned around. "Have to check something."

He remembered the hunter's eyes, a crosshair firm in Eliot's sight while he studied the SUV.

A whistling in the van sounded like complete silence when he crawled in, and he huffed in relief. It took only a minute long search to confirm his suspicions, and a mixture of relief - a real relief that melted his knees - and annoyance, which settled in his heart.

He sat and let out one long breath, a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The chaos around them suddenly sounded ominous, now when he knew where Eliot was.

Both tiny backpacks with their trackers were gone.

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	3. Chapter 3

TRTJ – Chapter 3.

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Eliot was sure that climbing up the slope, back to the road, would take tiresome minutes. He had counted on fighting off the wind and sand.

It took less than a minute in reality. The whirling wind that threw them off the road changed direction, and went up hill, pushing at his back. He could even keep his eyes open. Wind which made his steps light and effortless, took a bigger part of his weight off his injured leg.

A new sound melted into the constant roar of wind, when he was less than a hundred feet from the road; an engine in low gear, advancing slowly to the spot where they went down the hill.

The trackers he carried probably couldn't tell them the exact square foot of this hell. On their receiver, they could see the trackers were here. That particular _here_, was a problem that could be solved only by getting out of the car and searching around.

Precisely what he needed. They would come to him, and spare him searching for them.

He waited until he heard that wind slam shut the opened car door – it went through the storm louder than a gunshot. Even curses flew to him, distorted and muffled. They were out on the road, and they weren't happy about it.

He bowed lower and stopped, letting the wind at his back spray him with more sand. When he wasn't moving, a thin cover stayed on him. It would bury him completely, eventually, but there was no danger for now. His eyes were clear.

The suits weren't that lucky. All they could see, watching downward from the road, was a dark whirl climbing up to them, filling their eyes with burning needles.

He used that cloud that hid him, because tousled bushes weren't a good cover even with all their leaves on. Now they were useless, naked and dead. Two men were on the precipice – and all they saw was a darker shade that lunged into them, knocking them onto their backs. The fierce wind added speed to his hits. He slammed them with his left hand – no amount of wind could help the right hand to hit with the needed strength.

He was on the road now, and wind wasn't an advantage anymore. Burying his face into the crook of his elbow was the only way to advance towards the SUV. Yes, he could take one backpack that hung from his shoulder, and use it as a barrier; but just thinking about stuffing his face into the pink Hello Kitty made him cringe.

Two dark cars had been following the police chase after them, so he could expect one more to show up.

The wind was determined to knock him off his feet, and his steps became doddering attempts to keep himself upright. He should get into the car and wait there, but one thing needed to be done before that. He had to take care of the two suits. Leaving them here on the road, unconscious, would be tantamount to a death sentence.

Dragging them, one by one - after disarming their guns - to the back of the SUV, took much more strength than knocking those bastards down did. When he finally managed to throw them in a heap on the back seat, the only thing he wanted was to slam his own head into the car door. Arms with through-and-through holes weren't supposed to lift people heavier than his own weight; _every-fucking-thing hurt_. And the wind continued its endless whipping, laughter echoing in chaos.

He went around the SUV clutching onto the metal with both hands, until he reached the driver's door, and finally crawled onto the seat.

He needed only five minutes to recover from this shit. _And maybe some military grade pain killers_.

First three minutes he spent coughing up the dust, and trying to clear the little needles stuck in his eyes. Every move of his eyes grated his eyelids; it burned. _Par-ti-cles_, Hardison's annoying voice sung in his head. There was only a limited amount of Hardison-being-obnoxiously-right that he could bear in one day.

Yeah, Hardison, good job he remembered him. He checked his phone; barely sufficient signal, but a call might get through. He hit speed dial and waited for Hardison to pick up.

"Need a ride?" he said when something clicked. From the other side just a loud static cracked, echoes of wind. "Don't know if you can hear me – get out of the van, climb up to the road. Follow the ditch the van made. If you ain't here in five minutes, I'll come get ya'." He listened; there was a voice deep in the static, but he couldn't decipher any reply.

When lights pierced the clouds before him, three blinks, he put the phone down. The second SUV had finally arrived. He responded with three blinks, and stayed inside. The SUV slid through the last meters with speed and elegance of a pregnant turtle, and stopped by his side.

Two men jumped out. "Found 'em yet?" A yell swam to him, and he waved his hand in general direction. They could see only his silhouette inside, nothing more. He was ready for their next move; when the first one opened his door, he pushed himself off the seat. The half blinded target didn't see what hit him.

The other one did. The second man jumped away from his falling friend, but Eliot was already out of the car. With wind swirling between them in a spiral, both of them breathed in the dust. The first two hits missed, the cloud distorting everything. Only when he hit him with his knee, and once more with his foot, was he able to aim for his face.

He barely stayed on his feet when the last one fell. Fighting the wind depleted his last reserves of strength… and he had to take care of them before he could sit down again.

He dragged both of them, the same way he dealt with the other suits – just this time he locked the first SUV after he loaded them into the back. They would stay there until someone found them, or they called for help with their phones when the storm died out.

He went around the car, checking it once more, then turned to the other SUV. He didn't make that last step toward it; a strange _swoosh_ sound came out of nowhere. Suddenly, tearing pain in his back and head threw him forward.

His vision wasn't the only thing distorted around him, the time was as well. It was just one second – but at the same time, hours of slow-motion thinking – while he flew, hit by something huge. The flying lasted long enough for him to recognize the bent white door of their van. He hadn't taken time to turn around and avoid the heavy metal before it slammed into him. But he did have time to remember how he had warned Nate about the same thing. And he was right; _you ain't gonna see it coming_.

He dove into the darkness, and finally the howling stopped.

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"Nate, over here!" Hardison called him when they separated at the road. The hacker strode toward the other SUV while the rest of them inspected the first one, closer to the slope. Four tied up men were packed in the back.

"Stay here!" he pressed Sophie and Parker in to one side of the car; the girls were standing now, and all four huddled together were at least protected from one side. He hurried to Hardison who was observing something pink on the ground. Only when the hacker pushed the sand away, could they see a shape of a body. His heart skipped a beat.

Eliot was lucky he had carried the backpacks on his shoulder, as it stifled the hit a little. Nate looked at the part of the white van's door, now sticking out the back part of the second SUV. If that thing had hit him with its sharper edge, it would have sliced him in half; but it seemed it just grazed him as it passed sideways and flew further.

Hardison tore out the piece of white door and opened the SUV. Nate waited by Eliot, not touching him. Checking his vital signs in this cacophony was useless. His own heart thumped in a slow, hesitating rhythm.

The third row of seats in the SUV was standard, three person size; not enough to lay down a grown man comfortably, but there was no other choice.

When Hardison closed the door after them, and cut off the howling noise, Nate first took one deep breath. There was _silence_. After all that thundering in his ears, it felt like a sudden ease of a pain.

"Alive," Hardison was already checking Eliot. Nate's heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. "Unconscious. It hit him in the back; see that white in the torn jacket? And head, too, but there's no blood. He'll be fine." Hardison ended his inspection with a few light slaps at Eliot's face. No reaction, his eyes stayed closed and only a dust flew in the air. Nate flashed his hand to stop him.

"Not a good idea, Hardison. Let him be."

"Oh, yeah, you're right." Hardison stopped slapping, but he looked as if shaking the unconscious man was the next step. His urge to do something, anything, was glaring, and Nate waved his hand in front of him to get him together.

"Go get the others, we're clearing out. Move, Hardison, there's no time for hovering over him."

"Yes, the others. On it." He jumped out, letting just one brief gust of wind in, before he slammed the door again.

Nate lowered Eliot's feet to the floor, and shook the sand off him. He had nothing else to do, nor did he know what would be wise. Maybe it was better not to wake him up, but let him come round on his own.

Sophie had a different idea. When the door opened for the last time, and noise, sand, wind and people rushed inside, the grifter yelped.

"No, he'll be fine, he is unconscious -"

"Move away, Nate! You can't leave him lie there like a dead pig - bloody hell, Parker, this is your fault, all those dead pigs, now they're stuck in my head!" Sophie moved him away and chased him to the second row of seats. She sat with Eliot and placed his head in the crook of her arm, keeping him as upright as she could.

Nate just sighed.

"I'm driving!" A commotion from the front seat.

"Nate, she wants to drive again – why can't I drive now, she almost killed us-"

"Can we watch The Ice Age again?" Two red heads sat together in the seat beside him, and looked at him with huge eyes. He fastened their seatbelt.

"My driving saved us all! Go, go, do your… tech thingies and type!" If the shriek of the engine was a sign of Parker's mood, she was now deep in the homicidal/psychotic-spree phase.

"I have nothing to type on!" Hardison rustled within his laptop bag. "It's dead, battery is dead, and who knows what damage all that tumbling did to the sensitive-"

"I have to pee."

"Oh, kill me now." Hardison said.

Nate pressed his temples with both his hands; he still couldn't figure out where the blood on his face came from. But a growing headache gave him part of the answer. "Silence," he said. Every word hurt on its way out, and he cleared his throat.

They all shut up.

Two pairs of shoulders on the front seats hunched, and Hardison crossed his arms. The engine was still running wild, so the drama would continue.

The girls withdrew from him; one of them pushed with her legs off his seat. There was a small empty space between their two seats, and yet they both curled against the window, away from him. He looked at two trembling chins, and eyes filling with tears, and sighed.

Sophie's silence felt threatening. And full of accusation. He could feel her eyes boring into his skull without turning around.

Nate sighed again. "Hardison, you have your phone," he said. "Find out where we are. We need a place to stay, hide, and recover. Find some motel, with bungalows, preferably some lonesome road house, far away from everything."

"On it."

"Parker, follow his lead. And slow down. We've had enough of…" he paused, choosing his words. "… of unexpected circumstances that threw us off-course."

The engine purred and relaxed in response.

"Sophie?" he continued.

"He's still out. I think his shoulder is bleeding. The exit wound must've been nasty, and this latest fight has hurt it again. Hardison, did he have any medical assistance, or did the idiot patch it up himself?"

"Paramedics at the scene, and later, one of his… well, murky men, probably a Military medic too." Hardison's voice was followed by tapping sounds. It was such a relief to be able hear quiet sounds again. "Geez, this is so slow, it feels like waiting for an ancient modem to go online… it takes an eternity to load a simple- okay, I got something – Parker, we are, kinda, going back in a big circle. If you continue on this small road, we'll need just three turning points to reach a motel. It's one of those typical barely-surviving motels in the middle of nowhere, and I would bet it lives off more nightly activities. There'll be no questions asked." Hardison's voice went softer by the end. "And don't worry if you miss a junction or two, we'll-"

"I won't miss a junction or two, Hardison." Well, even though Eliot was still out, it looked like they would still have their share of growling, nevertheless. Parker's voice was disturbingly low.

"Right. Of course you won't, momma. You don't miss anything, ever, not even-"

"Shut up, Hardison," Nate stopped him; his attempts to fix this just dug him deeper. "Type."

"Type -Hardison, type -Hardison – as if I'm only worthy-"

"Hardison."

"Yeah. _Typing_."

Nobody said anything for five blessed seconds, and Nate let out one long breath.

"And now," he turned to the girls on his right side, schooling his voice into gentle and soft. "Can you tell me what you meant when you said, that you wanted to watch The Ice Age - _again_?"

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"…and, and, and then big hairy el-e-fant fell into superhot water, oh, and then there was a kitty with big teeth who was all _rawwr._" One of the girls raised her hands up like claws. "And then they were falling and running, and-"

"-and tiny weird kitty is funny – he got a big tummy, and talks really silly, and eats all messy_, _and Mommy said I can't eat with my both hands like him-"

"-oh, oh, oh, and they saw dina-saurs in the ice – they were like fro-zin – and then they went down the hill like superfast and were like _weeeeeeee_-"

Nate rubbed the back of his neck. His headache was lower down, at the base of his neck, as his head turned left and right, following the current speaker. Their exchange was quick and fierce.

"That's wonderful," he said when that _weeeeee_ went on and on, without any sign of stopping. That was his fourth attempt in stopping the flood, and it looked like it would work. The other one didn't continue when _weeee_ trailed off into the silence. "Now, tell me, where did you watch it?"

"On Billy's little screen. He put it there," one of them pointed at the back of the headrest in front of them. "He sang with weird kitty, and made _voices_!"

"So, you watched it on your way to airport? You drove, with your Mommy and Billy, in this car?"

"Billy and his friends took us to Disney World – Mommy packed us and she was happy."

Nate exchanged a glance with Hardison, who had turned back to them, watching the interrogation with fascination. Friendly Billy was probably one of the suits who were now _resting_ in the other car. Friendly Billy sang them a song, and later shot at the van they were in. What the hell was happening here?

"I checked their backpacks," Hardison said. "No IDs, nothing useful. Just hats, glasses, crayons, a few snacks, and toys. I can't – not with this lousy signal – type in Google: Phoenix, red headed twins. I need names, Nate."

"We already established that their Mom's name is Mommy," he said. He turned again to the girls. "Do you know where do you live?"

"In a house."

"Of course. Front yard? Pool?"

Silence. Yet, they relaxed a little, they were no longer an unhappy bunch, withdrawn from him. Now one pair of yellow sneakers swayed freely between their seats.

Hardison turned to them once more, crossed his eyes and made a face. They giggled. "You go to McDonalds?" the hacker asked and waited for their nods. "How long do you walk from your house to the nearest McDonalds?"

"Mommy drove us. She's an ostro-naut."

"Great, Hardison, now you have everything. Type Mommy astronaut in search. And while you're doing that… any results on registration plates for the SUV?"

"Reported stolen last night."

"One more crime on our backs," said Sophie. "This storm will be more useful than we thought, police will have more important things to deal with than a stolen car. Parker, are we there yet? If he doesn't wake up in the next ten minutes…"

"At least half an hour until we reach the motel. The police still might cruise in this area, and we don't need another chase."

"Girls," Sophie said. "How many bags did your Mommy take in the car? Billy and his friends helped her carry them, am I right?"

"Full back part." One of them pointed behind Sophie.

"Bags were bigger or smaller than you?" she continued. "If you stood near one of them, could you peek over it?"

"Manny hid in one bag. Billy ran all over the house playing hide-n-seek."

So, the one on the left was Mickey. Nate tried to find something distinctive on their faces, but even their messy curls looked the same. "So, it wasn't a day trip," he said. "They were practically moving them."

"To Disney World!" stereo cry pierced his eardrums.

"Yes, to Disney World. Do you remember-"

"Are we going back to Mommy?" Mickey said. Nate squinted at the eagerness in the child's eyes.

"Tomorrow. We can't go back to her today because of the storm. You will sleep at our place tonight. Hardison will download The Ice Age, and, and…"

"I want Mommy now," Manny whispered. _There goes the quivering chin again_. The lump in his throat spread. This shit was disturbing on too many levels – and he wasn't the right person to deal with two kids.

Sophie's voice trailed in right before they started to cry again. "We'll have a pajama party and sleep over. And lots of ice-cream."

This talk was over. Pressing them now would only cause damage, and they would get no useful answers. Nate waved his head to Hardison to continue his search. When they settled down, and girls relaxed with the ice cream, it would be time to try again.

He watched them out of the corner of his eye, pretending he wasn't paying attention; they murmured quietly to each other. After a few minutes, it seemed as they would fall to sleep.

He tried to remember when four year olds might need their afternoon naps, and stopped himself too late. The lump now had spikes in it. He turned away from them and stared through his side window, into swirling clouds that they were sailing through.

After some time, a murmuring turned into quiet giggles, but he didn't turn around.

"Nate…" Sophie's voice was barely a breath, followed with an even quieter clanging sound.

He turned around. Their seat was empty, they'd just slipped out under the seat belt. One yellow shoe was the only thing he saw before peeking between their seats, to the back seat. Both of them had crawled to Sophie and Eliot. He couldn't see what they were doing on the floor, but their heads were almost touching, hovering over something.

He looked at Sophie, searching for a cue, but she was on the verge of laughing. No help there. The clanging sound repeated, followed by whispers and giggles.

He used those seconds to check on Eliot, but there was no change. All of them were covered with layers of dust sticking to every pore, so he couldn't even say if the hitter was pale - he was yellow. It must've been fifteen minutes since they'd found him, and he could only hope that it was just an accumulated weariness that kept him down.

Eliot's left hand moved. It was hanging from the seat, and Nate looked better. No, he wasn't coming round, his eyes were still closed, it was being yanked – clanging sound clinked again, muffled by a chuckle.

"What are you doing?" he said.

The girls yelped and separated. Each of them held one of Eliot's bracelets; the third one was undone, and one more lay on the floor. Their smiles were full of awe – a grown up, _a man_, with shiny jewelry, ready for them to play with.

He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

"Go back to your seat now," Sophie came to his aid. "You can take them with you and play. Just sit still, okay?"

"Okay," they sang in unison, gathered their loot, and shuffled back under the seat belt.

Oh, boy. He returned to staring through the window. This whole night would be extremely interesting.

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"Wait, what?" Hardison said when Parker stopped the SUV in front of a dark building. They could only see shapes of bungalows behind it, through the veils of sand. "Nuh- uh, not going in there, not until we check around the back of it. If there's an Aztec pyramid there…This is in the middle of nowhere, people; haven't you watched From Dusk til Dawn? And why ain't there no lights anywhere?"

"Power cut off," Parker said. "Better for us."

"You wait here, I'll go and rent the back bungalow. Sophie, would you- nope, you can't." Nate got up and wiped his face a little. His reflection in the window showed no blood. "Parker, you'll go with me. Lose the jacket."

The storm hadn't eased a bit; the wind almost knocked their feet out from under them when they stepped outside. Even this close to civilization, Nate had to hold Parker's arm so as not to let her out of his sight.

One weak candle welcomed them at the reception desk.

"In a second!" A male voice came from the back rooms; they heard rustling sounds. "No need for a door bell when you announced yourselves by letting a river of sand into my motel, am I right?" One more light came trotting down the hall. "Welcome," said a young, fat man, smiling under a bunch of – _hell, no_ – red locks. "I just talked with a friend, he said that two thirds of Phoenix were without power – so you wouldn't get anything better there than here. I'm Ed. How can I help you?"

"We got lost in the storm, and we need a place to stay – the biggest bungalow you have," Nate said, pulling Parker closer to him. "The name is… Smith," he gave the man a crooked smile. "This, this is my daughter. Jenny Smith."

The smile on Ed's face got wider. "Yeah, I hear ya'. Your daughter, of course. I guess you'll be paying with cash?"

"Uhm, yes," Nate avoided his eyes for a second. "And, and, we'll need lots of ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?" Ed looked as if he might offer some sleazy comment, but suppressed himself at the last moment. "No problem if that's all you want, I have a freezer that's contents will soon start to melt. You can take as much as you…need. But we have no other food. Our kitchen is closed. The staff didn't show up for second shift. So it's locked until tomorrow."

"Locked?" Parked sighed. "What a shame."

Nate tapped her foot with his, and signed the book. Ed gave him the keys.

"Bungalow number 19, the last in a row. Sorry, you'll have to find it yourself, no chance I'm going out into this shit." Ed pulled out one box of candles and pushed it into Nate's hands. "Good luck, and if you need anything… well, just don't need anything, and you'll get a discount, okay?"

"Perfect," Nate smiled, pulled Parker after him, and left.

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Eliot woke up when the pressure in his chest reached the point of explosion. A deep inhale just made it worse. He opened his eyes, facing the vanilla leather of the SUV's roof. Dust scraped his throat while a coughing fit clenched his chest.

"There, there," a voice behind his ear purred. "We'll get you some water soon. Nate and Parker went to get us a bungalow. They'll be back in a bit."

He untangled himself from Sophie's arms, and sat upright. "What the hell ya' doin'?" Shit, his voice hurt on its way out; the sound was a gravelled whisper.

"Keeping you comfortable," she sounded as if enjoying his unease, and he gritted his teeth.

"I'm fine." He put an extreme effort in casually dusting his jacket off, as if every move didn't send waves of pain and nausea over him. The throbbing in his head wasn't a good sign. Pain gathered behind his temples, every few seconds sending a sharp burst into his eyes, making his vision double. He _definitely_ needed a concussion on top of all the other shit.

The side door opened and he squinted; Nate's head seemed to ride upon the crest of a sand wave that rushed in. His stomach churned, and he gripped the seat with both hands, breathing slowly in through his nose.

"Ready to go? Eliot? Able to walk?"

He couldn't unlock his jaw, so he nodded. _Dear god, what a mistake_. He was only dimly aware of rustling around him, one giggling and one whining voice, closing and opening of the doors. He had to move. He slowly unclenched his grip and pushed himself up on his feet, following all the muddy shapes that danced around him.

Surprisingly, the wind hadn't added to his troubles – or he was too numb to notice them – because walking, well, plodding along following Sophie's light colored jacket, and staying upright was going smoothly so far.

It was a dump smell of the bungalow that nearly threw him over the edge. The nausea stopped in his throat with sheer will-power.

"Excellent!" Sophie sang beside him, and he felt that sound in his _eyes_. He staggered to the nearest bed, flickering before him in the candle-light, and lowered himself down.

"Be quiet," he said, putting the pillow over his face. _Silence. Darkness_. Just ten minutes, and he could recover.

"Okay, people, we have work to do," Nate went over his words as if he didn't hear him, bastard. "Parker – go hunt food, medical supplies, ice-cream, and everything useful you find. Hardison, search everything you can. Do we have a burner-phone? Thanks, Sophie. Call the airport, say you're from Radical Whatever, and confirm we set the timer on the bomb. Sound foreign. We have to keep the planes grounded until we see what we're dealing with. You two, into the bathroom and do your things-wash your faces and hands. Eliot, you stay right there until I think of something for you. Move, people, move!"

Four grown-ups and two children opened their mouths at the same time, and all the sounds pierced his skull in a never-ending current.

This would be a night to remember.

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	4. Chapter 4

TRTJ- Chapter 4.

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"You have the spine of a gummy frog," Eliot said to Hardison.

The hacker shot him one too-dignified-to-respond-to-that stare, and quickly returned to his jaws-growling impression. Eliot hoped he wouldn't really bite the little fingers that were poking at his face from both sides. The girls discovered that if they smudged the yellow layer on his skin, a dark color would emerge beneath. He already had five stripes on his cheeks. If the girls noticed they could turn him into a zebra, the next thing they would be forced to endure would be watching Madagascar.

The hacker already gave them his tablet, but The Ice Age was forgotten for now.

Eliot managed to get himself together after Parker left to rummage through the motel, and Sophie took off to the bathroom with their jackets, to see how to get rid of the sand. It was the increasing flow of giggles that had stirred him from lulling himself into the second of five stages of dealing with his concussion.

Nate sat as far away from the beds as he could, by the counter of a small kitchen.

The largest bungalow of this motel was for families, clearly. One king-sized bed, one normal, and one sofa would, however, be very uncomfortable for five adults with two kids. Eliot was laying on the king-size one, while Hardison and the twins occupied the smaller. He contemplated getting up, and gave up. An hour, or two, of this half-darkness – two candle lights mixed with bluish tablet glow weren't too disturbing – might even help him to get together faster. Nausea should be under control very soon, if the sounds and lights stayed like this-

One chuckle grew into a high pitched scream of joy, and he stuffed his face into the pillow again. Weren't kids supposed to be scared and shy, taken from their mother and pushed into the hands of five complete strangers? They should've been hiding under the bed.

The pillow was his only friend now. The pulsing in his head ebbed away a little with darkness and silence, and complete immobility spread over him-

The bed exploded, mattress jumped up. The pain surged into his brain, burning synapses along the way. Laughter pierced through the pillow, and everything around him went _up_. He curled in agony, for a moment completely unaware of anything, unable to see what the hell happened, when the loud bang of a chair falling on the floor shot through his eyes.

He forced his eyes open. It was Nate's chair that fell; Nate was already by the bed, reaching with both hands towards something. Hardison's shadow was on the other side, and between them, two small shapes bouncing up, and down, and up and… His stomach tied into a knot. They were jumping on his bed like two crazy balls, and every bounce sent arrows of pain through his head.

"Enough, enough!" It could be Nate's voice, he couldn't be sure. It was overrun by laughter and squealing. They grabbed them and removed them from the bed, and the mattress stopped vibrating. His head, however, continued.

"What's going on?" Sophie's alarmed voice was followed by a door bang, and that was too much. He raised himself into some sort of sitting position, and carefully lowered his feet to the floor. The bathroom door was only three meters away, and he walked to it with steady steps, but barely in time. Same moment he closed it behind him, the nausea rushed over him; he reached the toilet at the last second before the bile rose in his throat. The spasm felt as if his stomach tore itself from inside, every heave sending bolts of pain through his skull.

He couldn't remember when he last ate, and vomiting only acid left him exhausted and shaky. It took three attempts before he managed to flush the toilet.

That should be better now, he said to himself. At least, whenever the bathroom stopped spinning.

He gritted his teeth and grasped the edge of a sink, straightening himself up. Water. That's what he needed. And some wet cloth to put on his head; that would help too. Just slowly, one thing at the time, and his brain might stop pulsing.

Sophie left a candle burning when she ran out, and he could see enough to find a plastic cup. He poured water in it and rinsed his mouth. Only now, that the nausea didn't occupy his every sense, did he felt all effects of this retreat to the bathroom; his leg almost gave way, and his shoulder reminded him how much he had overdone it.

Fucking _mess_. This night, he had to work on it, very thoroughly, if he wanted to function tomorrow. He sighed, controlling that exhale so as not to disturb his stomach any further, and turned to the mirror to see if he was decent enough to return to the room.

Decent was too shallow a word for what he saw.

One wisp of his hair, right above his left eyebrow, was braided. And it was secured with a Hello Kitty pin, glittering joyfully in the candle-light.

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Hardison's phone rang when he'd put both girls in front of his tablet, and occupied them with the cartoon again. Nate let him do it; he was doing great with them. "Parker needs help," Hardison said when he put the phone down, sounding half surprised, half worried.

"What's happening?" Nate said. Something could be a trouble for the thief in a cheap motel? He was sure she got through doors without even noticing if they were locked or not.

Hardison was already by the door. "Didn't say." And he was gone.

Sophie gave him his jacket, cleaned and almost black again. The grifter sat by his side and ruffled his hair. The dust flew up, and landed back on his jacket. But her smile was soothing.

"It'll be strange working without earbuds," she said. "I mean, if we get to work on this at all. What if Hardison can't find any clues about the mother? What shall we do? Hand them to police with a note on their backs?"

"Ask me that tomorrow, if nothing changes," he said, willing one smile he didn't feel. She was right. There was a possibility they wouldn't be able to find anything. Power outage might last for a few days, just as this storm. Their phones would die very soon. The hacker cut off the internet, the storm stopping any standard, on-foot investigation, the hitter with concussion, and police chase after them… yes, the odds were lousy. "We'll turn all our phones off, to preserve batteries," he said instead. "Everything has to go to Hardison's search."

Sophie waved her head to the girls, glued to a small screen. "Even the tablet?"

"Not…yet. It keeps them busy, we need that now."

"Oh, we need one more thing. My jacket is ruined."

What? She needed the new jacket now? He followed her gaze, and then he understood. Her sleeve, up to the shoulder, was soaked in blood, where Eliot's back rested on it. He looked at the closed bathroom door.

"Yeah, I'll go and check on him. But first Parker and-"

As if in response, Parker burst into the bungalow, and now they both saw why she needed Hardison's help. He plodded behind her, carrying one giant First Aid cupboard. Nails and mortar still hung from the back of it. Hardison also had one backpack on his back, and Parker's hands were occupied with a big box. Her grin lit the room like a chandelier.

"The motel has two stories with rooms, mainly full. Many people took cover here. Bungalows are also all taken," Parker said, emptying her treasure box. "Motel bar is full, though there's no light." Nate saw two laptops, many phones, two tablets, and one smaller box. Hardison looked at her loot, and made a purring sound. But when he put his things on the bed, he didn't reach for laptops – he jumped onto a small box.

"Parker, you have no idea – this thing – how did you know?"

"Know what?"

"It has Lithium - Polymer battery, not Lithium – ion, and it's _integrated_, and let me see that… yesssss, 23000mAh!"

Nate cleared his throat. "Hardison," he said. "What's that thing?"

"It's…" The hacker frowned, thinking. "Erm, a powerbank, a portable charger for all electronic devices – if it's full, I'll have several full charges for my laptop. Here, you take the phones and see if batteries are good for some of ours."

"Later." Nate got up and checked the First Aid cupboard. "You start working; try to find some way to connect us with this mess. Parker, you brought any food?"

"In a back pack. Ice cream, too."

"Okay, Sophie…" He waved his hand to the girls, and the grifter nodded.

The First Aid kit contained much more than he hoped for, probably because the motel was too far away from any medical help. But he really needed only two things: saline solution, and antiseptic. Bandages and sterile gauzes were standard equipment.

He armed himself and went to the bathroom, knocking before entering.

Eliot was sitting on the rim of a bathtub, doing something with his hair. Nate stopped any sarcastic comment about priorities.

According to the annoyed glare dispatched in his direction, there was a serious possibility that the hitter would just throw him out; that stare, not even in a dim candle-light, could be mistaken as anything else.

It took several months before they'd returned to a comfortable routine. The Boston mess, with Eliot recovering in his apartment for more than two weeks, changed their dynamics. It was too close, too emotional, disturbing for both of them. Hiatus helped, and when they had moved to Portland, it seemed they managed to get back the old distance – not touching, but always at arms reach. This was a step back, a deterioration, and he saw Eliot's hesitation.

"I do not like this any more than you do," Nate said. "Go argue with Sophie."

"I don't need anybody here, especially not someone who has no idea what to do. I can do it myself."

"You can – but it doesn't mean you have to. Besides, I want to see how you're doing, and what shape you're in." Making this impersonal might work. _Nobody is worried, nobody is helping_. _And most definitely, nobody thinks that almost half an hour of unconsciousness is a sign for an alarm_. He lined up the things he brought on the sink. "You are sharpening your knives a day before you have to use them, right? So am I, right now. This is just an inventory."

"If you say so." Eliot's reply was neutral.

Nate lit two more candles, and said no more.

"Okay," the hitter said finally. "Only because of the light. I can wrap it up myself, even the exit wound, but I can't see well enough not to miss something while cleaning it." He took off his shirt; every move strained and slow. He kept his head a little bowed, not rising it even when he spoke to him. Nate remembered his own hangovers, and knew exactly how everything spun around, and swirl inside Eliot's head now.

"Front patch of bandages looks intact," he said when he brought the candles closer. "Do you want me to check under-"

"Nope, leave it. Just clean the exit wound. The bandage on the leg is still firmly in place, no need to touch that either."

"You know the best." A big patch on his back was soaked in blood; Nate cut through the bandages. A fresh, angry bruise went across his ribs, touching the wound, up to his neck. "Ribs broken, cracked, or okay?" he asked.

"Okay for now – if cracked, I'll know tomorrow."

Nate felt the base of his neck. A few drops of blood glistered in his hair. "It caught you sideways, with the edge," he said. "You have a lump on the back of your head, but skin isn't torn too much. Feeling any effects of blood loss?"

"It's not that serious. I would stop it before, if it was. Bleeding cleans the wound, keeps sand away."

The wound still bled sluggishly. A hit that had hurt it again and torn the end of the stitches, and a fight and quick movement helped in stretching it. That must've been painful as hell. Nate glanced at Eliot's face, set into a blank, concentrated mask. He had washed his face and there was no yellow sand to cover up how pale he was. "I have nothing to stitch it again with," he said. "But I can try to tie up and secure the loose end. It will be messy and, well, it will hurt."

Eliot rolled his eyes instead of offering an answer. Nate saw an exact moment when everything around him rolled as well, when his confused brain tried to follow the eye movement. His face turned green, and he breathed through nausea to stop it.

Nate bit off yet another sarcastic comment, and turned to the sink to wash his hands, giving him time to pull himself together. He rubbed them clean, and poured antiseptic over his fingers when he dried them. He repeated the procedure with small scissors from the kit.

"Sit here," he lowered the toilet seat, and spread a few towels on the floor, hoping they wouldn't have to use them.

Eliot's tensing when he stood behind his back was pure instinct, he knew it, but he nevertheless slowed his movements. A big mirror that surrounded the sink was useful; he could see Eliot's face in it, and judge how he was doing without going in front of him to stare at his face.

He flushed the wound with saline and antiseptic; it still oozed blood, making it difficult to see anything clearly. The flickering candles didn't help.

"I can't see clearly what's sand, and what's suture – I'll have to, erm, experiment a little."

"Stop fidgeting and just do it, Nate."

_Easier said than done_. He hesitated before every move; he used the scissors to lightly catch _things_, trying not to pay attention to the fact that he dug into a raw, open wound. A distraction; that was what Eliot needed to keep his mind busy. No, scratch that, _he_ needed a distraction, something that would keep his stomach steady.

"While you were out of it, Hardison gave us a step-by-step report of his encounter with the mother," he said. His briefing voice would be too obvious, so he set it on _casual_, and added one tone of _but_ _still intriguing, so listen carefully_. "One twin had drifted away in the crowd, three suits went to find her, and the other was left with the mother. She forced that one to run after her, giving time for Hardison to take both girls away. They used communication sets." The scissors slipped, going too deep into… –dear god, this was really _meat_ - and his stomach lurched. Eliot's eyes were steady when he glanced at him; no reaction, no movement. Nate blinked sweat away from his eyes, and continued. "Did you notice anything distinctive about them, which might tell us something important?"

"They ain't too good, and not government professionals. They are someone's private service - security or bodyguards. You're looking for a man behind them, not an organization."

He listened more to the hitter's voice than the meaning of his words. Words were clear, not slurred, but he spoke slower than usual. Was that of weariness, or a hit in the head, he couldn't tell.

He wiped the blood, and continued. "What we already know isn't much – Hardison said the mother is mid-twenties, Irish-ly good looking…" He met his eyes in the mirror – "Don't give me that look, I'm quoting Hardison. If Sophie had been there she could tell us more. When we asked him about her clothes, he said it was expensive hippie impression. Of course he couldn't explain what he had meant by that. The girls are also well taken care of, their clothes are designer."

He paused, giving him time to say something, but Eliot in the mirror just nodded. Okay, well, this wasn't working for him, either. Sweat was burning his already scraped eyes, and he had trouble focusing on the scissors. Babbling wasn't helping him to concentrate, so he stopped talking.

It took fifteen minutes – he checked – of fighting with the slick suture and microscopic grains before he was satisfied. Eliot didn't move, didn't flinch the entire time, as if he was just a bored audience. Yet, by the time Nate wrapped up his shoulder again, a slight tremble was set in his muscles, the only sign of exhaustion.

"Don't move," he said, going to the sink. He washed his hands, and wiped his face, checking him in the mirror. Eliot bowed his head, and rubbed the bruise on his neck. His injured arm rested on his tight, but it wasn't relaxed. It was tensed like a coiled spring. Nate thought for a second, but decided that a suggestion of putting it in a sling could wait for tomorrow. He lined up all bottles he found in the First Aid cupboard. "I guess you need something anti-inflammatory, right?"

"No Aspirin. It increases the bleeding." Eliot's voice sounded gravely and strained. Too much sand, too much holding his breath. "Leave 'em there, I'll check it."

And that meant he wouldn't take any of them. Any really efficient drug would slow him down, and weaker ones would be of no use.

Nate said nothing about it, but it was time to poke the other elephant in the room.

"And now…" he raised his hand before his face and kept it there. "How many fingers do you see?"

Eliot slowly withdrew a few inches, with a huff of annoyed laughter. It almost covered up a slight sway, and a blink when his eyes shifted, trying to find a focus. "And what would my answer mean to you?" he said. "You have no idea what you're asking. Move it away."

"That's how it's done in movies and TV shows," Nate shrugged. "I couldn't help but notice that after whatever answers that nobody followed this test with a procedure. I've never heard someone say: it's a concussion. Let's get a CT scan, now. The usual response was: here, take one more gun and continue."

"And what's wrong with that?" Eliot slowly got up; the movement disturbed the flames and his face was undecipherable for a moment, long enough for Nate to miss his impression. He hoped that it was said ironically. Yet, he knew better.

The hitter reached for the cup. His hand missed. He caught the sink with an injured hand – an anchor for better orientation – and then caught the cup with the other one.

_Double vision_. Nate picked the towels up from the floor, and said nothing.

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Nate's silence thundered through the bathroom - including his head, too - but Eliot decided not to react. His concussion was his problem tonight, up until Nate started to pull his first moves in the game. By then, he would know what he would be able to do; or not.

He had to give him something, though. "My shoulder isn't the biggest problem," he said. "It's the leg. It slows me down, makes me unstable while fighting. Counter that into your plans." He fidgeted with his cup, not watching Nate. Cold water left the burning sensation in his throat, but he needed fluids, so he filled another one. This time it took just one move, he remembered the distance. He raised his head and met his eyes; the bastard just stood there, watching him. No, _watching_ him.

But whatever Nate wanted, or didn't want, to say, the moment passed when nails ruffled on the door. "Need help in there?" Sophie said. "Nate, Parker just came from the motel's laundry room – if he needs a new shirt, you have one on the door knob."

"Thanks, Sophie," Nate said. "We'll be out in a minute."

But what replied wasn't Sophie's voice.

"There's only one way to do it." A male voice came through the door, unknown. Powerful, ferocious and low. "First, you have to force him into a corner, to cut off his retreat." That voice scraped through Eliot's nerves like a razor. Nate was just one step from the door but he beat him to it without noticing any step.

They burst into the room almost knocking Sophie off her feet.

"Bloody hell! What are you do-"

"…_and when three of you have him trapped – I'll go for the throat_."

The girls screamed, and Hardison, sitting beside them, looked for a moment like he would do the same. "They turned the volume up!" he jumped up when they stopped two steps from the door. "Take it easy, it's just The Ice Age… it's Soto, bad kitty. Very bad kitty, right, girls?"

Eliot took one step aside, clutching a chair. His leg gave way; he leaned on it, each heartbeat sending thumping pain into his head. "Dammit, Hardison," even his voice sounded shaky. He didn't care. "What crap you let 'em watch? Throat cutting? What about parental ratings?" The bile rose in his stomach again and he stopped talking.

"Turn it _off_, Hardison." Nate said only that, but the girls flinched at that sound, and cuddled closer to the hacker. They were watching him by the chair, not Nate, Eliot noticed, with wide open eyes. Just then did he become aware that he had only bandages across his chest and shoulder.

Sophie spared him a step and handed him the shirt; their eyes followed his every move. He carefully sat in the chair. "Nate…" he said, nodding to the girls. "They are disturbed with bandages, look at them. Why?"

"Let's find out," Nate left the smile in his voice. "Did you have your ice cream?"

"Only one bowl," one said.

"We want more," the other continued.

"Okay, but first I have to ask you something. Do you want to see his bandages better? Come closer."

The girls nodded and smiles returned, but now they hesitated, when everybody's attention was on them. Eliot darted him a look; that wasn't the question he would ask. Yet, Nate was the only one here who had any real experience with kids, so he said nothing, just waiting for their reluctant steps to come closer.

Nate sat on the floor by his chair. Maybe it was that move, and maybe the soft light in his eyes, but Eliot suddenly had a glimpse of one long, long forgotten Nate. It was a different man sitting there, watching the girls. He knew exactly which years were erased from his face, and his heart skipped a heavy beat at that sight.

Sophie's reluctant step forward, caught with the corner of his eye, showed him he wasn't the only one who noticed it.

"You saw that before, didn't you?" Nate asked the girls. "Who was wearing that white thing?"

"Mommy wears it," one of them raised one little, hesitant finger, but held it back before she reached him. The other one nudged her, giggling behind her.

Nate turned to Hardison with a question in his eyes, and the hacker shook his head. "No, man, she didn't move like an injured person. She was quick and fierce – it might be adrenaline, but I don't think she'd been shot. Or stabbed, or something."

The shy one – damn, they had to find a way to decipher their names - smiled at him, and Eliot returned the smile. More giggles. The finger finally touched his knee. Even more giggles. "What?" he said. "You want to ask me something?"

"Are you a woman?"

_What_? He blinked at them, speechless. They waited for his reply, for crying out loud, it was a serious question.

Sophie's sudden laugh was completely _inappropriate_. "They didn't see someone with the bandages, Nate," she said, still laughing. "They think he wears a bra."

Just great. "Do I look like a-"

"Check your left wrist, Eliot," she said. "You were robbed in the van. You wear bracelets and bra – you have to understand their fascination."

Fuck, he was completely out it – not in the car, but here – when he didn't notice his bracelets were missing. Not good, not good at all. "Where are they?"

Nate clinked with his pocket, and offered bracelets to girls. Eliot bent down and snatched the silver-winged one before small greedy hands grabbed them all. "Take your hands off this one," he said putting it on his wrist. "You can play with the others. For now."

The girls immediately turned away from Nate's hand, and went after the forbidden one.

"Good move," Sophie nodded in approval, obviously thinking he wanted for that to happen. Yes, he _needed_ two kids so close the bullet holes, right. He suppressed the sigh and outstretched his arm as far as he could, letting them pull and cling. And giggle, of course. That sound had one tone in it that went straight to the pain receptors in his brain, lighting all lamps at the same time.

"Girls, where does your mother take you after breakfast?" Nate asked when one of them returned closer to him, and eyed the other bracelets. "She goes to work and takes you somewhere before that? To the kindergarten? Pre-school?"

"Yes!" Hardison reached for his laptop and started typing. Eliot didn't have to turn his head to know he was pulling-up all kindergartens in Phoenix, preparing to enter their data. The girls were about 4 years old, they could be in either, depending on their month of birth. In fact, that was the worst age to do any search – Hardison would have much less trouble searching for twins in schools, if they were a little older than this.

"We stay with Theresa," she said. Hardison huffed and changed the speed of typing. Now probably looking into registered-nanny-businesses-Phoenix-Theresa-whatever search.

"How old is Theresa?" Sophie asked. She sat on the floor by Nate, resting her back on Eliot's chair. That move blocked the other girl from going too close to his left leg, and he knew she did it intentionally.

"Oooold. She has pictures on her arm," the girl pulled her sleeve up and picked her forearm. "Steven too."

"Okay," Hardison murmured to himself. "Theresa, Steven, tattoos, old."

"She is four, Hardison," Nate shook his head. "Theresa could be a girl next door who watches over them – and she _is_ old to them. Or she could be their aunt."

"When does your Mommy get home?" Sophie asked.

"Late."

"Yes, of course. What does she do?"

"Baaaa."

"What? Manny, darling, is that a sheep?"

"How can you tell which one-" Both Nate and Eliot started the same question, but Sophie waved them to shut up. "Your Mommy works with sheep?"

"Baa!"

"Got it, searching farms around the town," Hardison said. "If that's a sheep, and not who knows-"

A movement from their left stopped his words. Parker slid in the small circle around the chair, Parker who wasn't even in the room when they started. Eliot glanced at the door, closed, with one new bag resting on the floor by the wall. He exchanged another glance with Nate. Parker's rummaging the motel should be stopped, as in now.

The thief had the girls' backpacks, and she pulled crayons out. A few quick moves and one sheep smiled from the carpet.

"Mommy works sheep, and sheep goes baa!" Manny laughed. "Make more sheep, do it, do it, do it!" Parker drew another one, and another one, and Mickey left Eliot's arm alone, her attention shifting, and joined the thief. They both crouched around Parker, watching her draw with a concentration that could burn the holes in the floor. Eliot tried to see anything distinctive on them, but he had no idea how Sophie knew their names. She was bluffing, he decided after his attempts to compare their freckles ended in seeing quadruplets, not twins. Dizziness hit him, and he slowly put both his hands on the armrests, breathing slowly through his nose. For a few blessed minutes, the only sound was Hardison's typing, while they waited for any result.

"This will take longer than I thought," Hardison admitted after some time. "Too many farms around, too many names, and I have to check every one. Tax reports don't usually state the hair color, ya' know? Ask them about the size, number of sheep, horses, think of something. I have to narrow my search."

"They wouldn't know," Nate said. His voice was quiet and Eliot quickly looked at him. He watched the girls with his head tilted. The same soft light was in his eyes, but pain simmered too close to surface now. He wasn't there, present with them. Eliot cleared his throat the same second Sophie did it.

"Maybe she doesn't own the farm, maybe she just works-"

"And what if she paints those sheep, or make sheep toys, or-"

They both stopped, but it worked. Nate stirred and raised his head.

"Yes, that's possible," he said, his eyes focused again. "Girls, do you know what your mother does to the sheep?"

"She flies them up, and up and up-" Mickey – no, was that Manny? They changed their places, he couldn't be sure – her arms raised up in the air, in circular moves.

"Okay, that's it," Hardison stopped typing and frustration crept into his voice. "She can be owner of a farm. She can only work there. She might make sheep toys. She might…" he stopped and pulled his hands through his hair. "And we can't know if those were sheep at all. This is useless!"

"Patience, Hardison," Nate said. "So, Manny, she _flies_ those sheep? Why? In what?"

"I'm Mickey. She flies them in heli – coffter."

"She transports… she flies sheep in helicopter?" Sophie looked at Hardison. "She could be a veterinarian. Maybe associated with farms."

"Could be," Hardison said. "Okay, searching Phoenix veterinarians…"

"The main question is," Nate said, "what could one farm veterinarian possibly do to someone powerful? Abduction, shooting at the car with kids in it, and the persistent chase after us? That doesn't make any sense." He rested his elbows on his knees and tented his fingers. This time, when he watched the girls, it was his usual piercing, busy look, and Eliot relaxed.

"Girls," Nate spoke lowly. He hit the exact tone that silenced them before, and it worked again. They turned to him, and he waved his hand to Parker. "This is Mrs. Parker. Say hello to Mrs. Parker."

_Mrs._? Eliot blinked once, watching him, but Nate's hand went from waving to a warning, silencing them all.

"Hello, Mrs. Parker," they sang. Parker's perplexed impression softened into a smile.

"This lady is Mrs. Devereaux," Nate continued. They all kept silent, waiting. "Say hello to Mrs. Devereaux."

"Hello, Mrs. Deve- roff!"

Sophie almost said something – something coo-ey, Eliot would have bet on it - but instead she glanced at Nate and kept her mouth shut.

"Great," Nate leaned forward, his eyes at the same height as two pairs of eyes, locking their attention on him. "Now, tell me what Theresa says to your mother when she comes in each morning?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Johnstone!"

"I'll be damned!" Hardison huffed, and Eliot felt a broad smile on his face, too.

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Eliot opened his eyes again when a strange mumbling came from Hardison. And he had just closed them, dammit.

"Farmer Johnstone – dead end," Hardison said. His fifteen minutes long typing ended with one final defeated curse, muttered into silence because of the girls. "Veterinarian Johnstone – dead end. There is one Johnstone, but his name is Fred, and he is black, no redheaded relatives or in-laws. Before you ask, I did try all variants of Johnson, Johnston, et cetera, et cetera, and guess what?"

"A dead-end?" Nate asked. He had occupied the other chair, and they both watched Sophie, Parker and the girls doing irreparable damage to the carpet.

"Don't smirk! I'm not in a mood for your-" Hardison glanced at the girls and changed his mind, sighing. "…for your usual facial expression when you're trying to… ah, never mind. Just let me do my job. I need silence."

Eliot couldn't agree more. Silence sounded perfect. He had barely survived one climbing attempt – they tried to reach for his hair, and _the entirety_ of him stood in a way. Sophie and Parker grabbed two little spiders at the last second, tearing them apart from him. It ended in whining, so they put them at the back of his chair – without asking him about it first – and let them pull his hair. And to giggle, damn close to his ear, which was extremely close to his brain, which happened – and everybody ignored that – to have been slammed with the -fucking -van- door.

Now he had five braids at the back of his head, directly above the hit spot. He was pretty sure Parker made at least three of them, seizing the opportunity, but he didn't bother to turn around and check.

He checked now, to see if they were safely busy with crayons, and then closed his eyes again. _Blessed darkness_.

"Girls," Nate said again. Eliot stopped one annoyed sigh, and opened his eyes. "Billy turned on The Ice Age in the car when you left your house this morning, you said that. What was happening on the small screen when you stopped at the airport, and had to go out?"

Hardison, who was sitting on the king-size bed leaned back and reached for the forgotten tablet.

"Growly kitty hit the squirrel, and it was flying, and flying, like, like… a bird! And it fell down in a snow-ball. Funny kitty-

"…-funny kitty hit the baby with snow! No, no, he hit el-ee-fant! And then baby hit him with snow ball, too! No, baby said it was funny kitty."

What was with that movie? Throat-cutting, hitting… he really needed to take a look at that. Hardison clicked all over the tablet, and when Nate said nothing more, girls returned to their crayons.

"Around forty minutes mark," Hardison finally said. "I'm making a circle around the airport… it was morning, so if I calculate the rush-hour and usual traffic intensity…" he clicked more, returning to his laptop. "Not bad, Nate. This is a narrowing of data. Give me some time to add all info into it – all about Theresa, Johnstone, sheep, tattoo, helicopter flying astronaut, eventual farm – veterinarian stuff, compare that mess with names of home owners and inhabitants in that circle, aaaaand…"

"Don't tell me," Nate said. "A dead end?"

"No, worse. A few hundred results. This will be a busy night, I'll have to go through each of them by hand and check for…"

"Hardison," Sophie's quiet whisper cut him off. "Look at this."

All the sheep on the carpet were painted green now.

Eliot leaned closer, but they didn't add anything more, just filled them with green. "Why do you think it's important?" he asked Sophie. "Maybe that was the first crayon she took-"

"Not she, Eliot. Each of them chose the color, separately, and they both painted the sheep green."

Eliot was half way to dismissing it as irrelevant, when he looked at Hardison. The hacker stared at the sheep with narrowed eyes, silent.

"What?" he asked him.

"I saw that somewhere… before," Hardison muttered. "Green sheep. There was some article, something new and promising… I'll find it, wait." He stopped talking and buried his head in the laptop again.

Eliot used that to get up. Every damn inch of him hurt, and the chair wasn't so comfortable when he wasn't able to rest his back on it. The room swirled with his first step to the bathroom, and continued to bounce around even when he stopped, pretending he leaned on the armrest to look at the girls.

He fooled no one, this time. All of them, except Hardison, were watching him. Even their damn heads were tilted to the same side.

"Got it!" Hardison saved him from their comments. "It's The Green Sheep Kingdom!"

"Green what?"

"A game. It's in beta version now, for mobile phones – and that's the fastest growing field in game industry these days – if you don't have an application for a phone, you're nothing. The Green Sheep Kingdom – a game where sheep chase wolves with helicopters is the biggest rumor in certain circles. It's _something_. It's property of Signia. Inc. Their shares are jumping astronomically, and the game isn't even released yet." The hacker typed as he spoke, and now he stopped to look at the screen. "Entering their employee lists…" His eyes scrolled up and down. They waited. Eliot took a step and sat back in the chair.

"Natalie Johnstone," Hardison finally proclaimed. "Senior developer in the art department, age 26, divorced, two children, girls, same date of birth – address on the exact edge of 40 minutes circle from the airport. We got her!"

"Find out everything that one gamer girl could do to someone powerful… and start with the head of the company," Nate got up, and checked his wallet. "Tomorrow at dawn, we head for their house, to see what she is keeping there. We need more clues."

"Where are you going?" Eliot asked.

"To get rid of the SUV, at least I'll move it from the parking lot – if a patrol car comes to check this place, they'll know we're here. After that, I'll mingle with people; Parker said the bar is open. Someone will know about these storms, and what we can expect in the next day or two."

And to stay as far from the kids as he could, Eliot finished his speech inwardly. He glanced at Sophie. The grifter pretended she was busy with crayons. Enough for him. And enough for Nate, too, because his lips settled into a thin line.

"Eat something," Nate said and headed for the door. Eliot watched him leave; his unusual slow steps, and stiff back told him he knew they were looking at him.

They were four years old. Their eyes were wide open, bright, and full of life, and laughter, and promises of future.

Eliot suppressed a pressure rising in his chest, a pressure that had nothing to do with the physical pain or nausea. He would give Nate one hour, no more, and then go and check on him.

When he turned his head to Sophie again, she nodded.

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	5. Chapter 5

Guess what? This story was supposed to be a quick, funny intermezzo, four chapters max.

1. – airport and setting the plot,

2. – desert, storm, a little action, and fun with the kids in a motel

3. – return to Phoenix with enough info to start plotting a quick con, and first actions

4. - a quick con, and lots of cooing

And here we are, chapter six, and we are introducing new characters, while we still don't know who the hell a bad guy is, and what's going on :/ ( yep, **we** isn't a lapsus calami here :D)

There is still a chance that I'll manage to wrap everything up in ten chapters. Wish me luck.

**PS: This chapter isn't nice. It's dark and disturbing, and you probably won't like it. The next one is even darker, so if you want to stop reading this story, now would be a good time to do it.**

PPS: I have no idea what ratings to put on this, or even can I do it for chapters, and not only for entire story, so I'd be grateful for any advice on that matter.

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TRTJ – Chapter 5

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"So, how was your trip to Boston?" Sophie's question caught Eliot short when he returned from his third retreat into the bathroom. Miserable was too weak a word to describe how he felt; his way of dealing with concussion was simply not working.

He scowled at the three grifters standing in front of him, blocking his way back to bed. Three Sophies were more than he could handle right now – especially when it seemed they would start talking about different things at the same time. However, he then looked behind her; the room and beds swarmed with multiple little redheaded bumblebees that buzzed all around. Staying near Sophie was much safer.

He swayed and lowered himself onto the chair. Sophie took another one. It was better, triple vision went back to normal, and he could focus.

"I should tell you just two words, and you'll see how this could have been worse," she said. "Sensory. Deprivation."

Oh hell, yes, he remembered Hardison's concussion, and both days of darkness and silence that Betsy ordered. _Betsy_. If she were here, then this shit would be much nastier. Remembering Betsy brought him back to Boston, and that, well, that reminded him of… he tried to stop thinking, tried to glare at her, but it was too late. Damn smile spread over his face, he could feel it.

Sophie tilted her head watching him, letting him know that she knew the exact line of thought that drove that smile – and now the glare that appeared without any effort.

"Go away," he said, hating himself because, in spite of the glare, his voice sounded soft.

"No." She leaned back in the chair, as relaxed as a Queen on her throne.

Parker's head turned to them. The thief left the crayons, got up from the floor, and sat on the armrest of Sophie's chair without a word.

"What's going on?" Hardison asked.

"Why don't you join us and find out?" Eliot was completely sure he snarled that sarcastically, as a clear repellent, but Hardison got up with his laptop and sat on the edge of the nearest bed, with that damn earnest, clueless smile he wore so well.

His annoyance jumped up ten levels. He crossed his arms over his chest – resting the right hand without anyone noticing it – and waited for divine intervention to save him from this. He could growl at them, and chase them away, but when he growled at Parker ten minutes ago, the twin gnomes looked at him with shocked little faces and eyes filling with tears, dammit. He had had to _chirp_ to them for two minutes to calm them down. _Chirping with concussion_ – he put that combination on the third place of un- survivable things. That thought helped with maintaining the nastiest scowl he could make.

"No, seriously, Eliot," Sophie said, all warm smile, gentle eyes and tender voice. The hairs on his forearms stood up. "We don't need a report about your affair; we just want to know about _Florence_. Tell us how she is? Is she okay? Happy? Any problems? Any news?"

He lost it at her name. It was enough to return him to the previous few days, in that mess of a bliss, sorrow, and love. Her face and her eyes for a moment were right there in front of him – he blamed the concussion for that – and he felt her arms around him as real as he felt his own. He blinked once. It did not chase away the dazzling light from her eyes, and that blossoming smile that always sent his heart thumping, it just made it more real. He would do anything if she could only be here with him. Now.

He felt his own fingernails digging into his upper arms, and ceased, with an immense effort. "She's fine," he said. "She is very…" _Beautiful, happy, still weird as hell, and finally his_. "…fine." He added when his thoughts threatened to pour out.

His eyes were on Sophie; her softness was not an act now. This time, seeing an understanding in her eyes, was no longer a threat, but welcomed. He needed her to know the things he could never say, ever.

"So, you managed to find a way for that to… work?" she asked, a careful shadow veiling her eyes.

"It will work, as long as she is safe. Moreover, for her to be safe, you are the ones who have to dismiss that name from your minds. There is no Florence McCoy. I was in Russia. Business trip. She is being watched, and that will continue, Sterling won't give up on a clear target."

"Paranoid again?" Hardison asked.

"When it comes to this, I can't be paranoid enough." He didn't growl or snarl – the girls were watching them now – and maybe that was another thing that erased the slight mocking from Hardison's smile. The hacker looked at him, once, and his smile disappeared.

"It's not only Sterling," Eliot said. "Everything is connected, and Sterling could be a link to her, for… someone else." He didn't have to elaborate that 'someone else', not to them. They all knew the bounties on his head, and people who were hunting him for money or revenge.

"Any way we can help?" Hardison asked.

"You already did, the flower-shops were enough. Nothing more for now until I see how it's going. Maybe I'll need something new for when we meet again, can't tell that now. Just keep an eye on her in your-" He pointed to the air, and spun his finger. "- virtual world. Monitor all suspicious searches about her – and I don't mean fans who want to know the spoilers for the next episode. Dangerous searches."

"You got it," Hardison nodded. "And that reminds me… the second episode of M7 aired two days ago. We were too busy in Washington, but I downloaded it. Do you want to watch it?"

"Not now, Hardison." He thought, and added. "But I will."

Now there was understanding in Hardison's eyes, too, and that was too much, he felt an itch of real annoyance. But then he remembered that morning when he had watched her waking up, when he thought about reset buttons – and it wasn't needed just for love and trust. It was needed for his entire life, too. These people were an essential part of it.

He returned Hardison's gaze squarely. What they really wanted – needed - to know was how _he felt_.

_Five years_. He trusted them with his life, without a second thought about it. He would give his life for them if anyone asked. Yet still, he wasn't able to tell them… no, to _share_ with them his feelings.

"I am…" he stopped. They waited. He took one long breath and almost choked on it, words jamming in his throat. _Happy? In love? I desperately miss her already_. It all sounded so empty and meaningless, and at the same time, so dreadfully revealing. He couldn't say that, instead he balanced there before all three pairs of eyes, paralyzed.

Surprisingly, it was Parker that moved. She slid from the armrest and sneaked up on him, all grace and speed in one move. She stopped just inches from his face, locking his eyes with hers.

"We know," she said. "It's okay." Then _it_ went again between the two of them, just like it did on the subway in Washington, an exchange of gazes under gunfire. Of course, she would be the one who would recognize his struggle. The rest of them weren't troubled by walls - their hearts were open.

He forgot he was holding his breath until he had to gasp for it again. Parker smiled and moved from his personal space.

Hardison cleared his throat. "Yeah, we're cool. She's right, we know, you don't have to say anything, unless you want to. And when you want to. In a meantime, can you tell us how often you'll travel to, to…Russia? After every job?"

He forced some order on his mind, and relaxed his shoulders a little. This defending guard was too obvious for Sophie. "Probably once a month, maybe less," he said. "I'll let you know. No contact when I'm off, except in emergency. Shit can travel both ways and reach you from our part."

"Speaking of emergency…" Sophie waved her head to the other part of the room. Two munchkins were climbing the curtains in a silent, stealth mode. Parker and Hardison jumped up and hurried to them, and salve of giggles echoed in his head. He didn't bother to get up; he would be too slow for them. Even Parker had to speed up to catch them when they separated and ran in two different directions.

"I guess it would be wise to put them in the bed," Sophie got up and looked around the room, probably thinking of sleeping arrangements. Yet, when she turned to him, again, he knew he was a fool to think that.

She was deeply involved with both him and Florence a few months ago, in the middle of that mess. How did she call it? _A tragic tilting_ around each other? Damn, she was right, it really was that. She knew everything, especially all the little things they tried to hide. Now, watching the warmth in her eyes, he felt the same warmth spreading into his chest also.

_You better let somebody love you, before it's too late_. Her last words on that subject, when they prepared to leave for the PVAs. He remembered every damn word from that conversation.

"It wasn't too late," he said.

And when he saw her smile, he knew she remembered it too.

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A yellow glow around Nate turned into a dark orange one. The day flowed into evening; not that he could tell it clearly, the murky whirl around him just grew darker.

Even the time itself seemed to be off axis; they ran along this day unable to catch up.

Driving the SUV, a couple of hundred feet deeper into the storm, and fighting the wind while walking back, were both oddly relaxing distractions for him.

He couldn't blame Hardison for getting them into this mess. All of them, including him, would have done the same.

When he returned to the main motel building, he saw blue and red flashes through the clouds of dust. Two patrol cars were parked in front of it. That could just be cops seeking refuge from the storm, or checking if everything was alright. They certainly wouldn't go searching through all the bungalows, not without a warrant they hadn't had time to get. They had no reason for that, too. The SUV, the only thing that could have been suspicious, was now invisible. Nobody saw them. He was Mr. Smith, a guy who managed to bring a date to a motel, and who fidgeted about it.

They were safe.

The bar was on the left of the reception desk, and Ed served as a barista now. There was no music, only candles placed at each table, and lined along the counter. One group of young college boys talked loudly in one corner; they gave a little life to the place. Guests, mainly pairs, were at five tables, adding a quiet chatting sound to the constant howl that shook the windows. One family with teenage sons ate sandwiches; random business-like people were scattered all over the place, drinking without seeking company.

He would blend in perfectly.

Cops were the largest group. They occupied two tables, at the back of the room. One table uniformed, one table plain clothed. Candles offered enough light to see their dark features. No smiles, no banter. They followed them into this hell, risking their lives – and now they had lost two little girls in the storm, left them with their kidnappers. Their coffees were almost done, so Nate took a stool at the bar, turning his back on them. They would soon leave, to proceed with patrolling, hoping they would stumble on the white minibus again. They weren't a threat for the team right now.

"Double Jack," he said to Ed. When his glass arrived, he changed his mind. "Leave the bottle."

The first glass put a layer around the blade he felt stabbed into his chest, yet rather than soothe, it just set it firmly in place.

All four year olds moved the same way. It wasn't important they were girls. The way they put their hands at the small of their backs while looking up at you, thinking how to get something they wanted; the glint in their eyes a moment before they would flash aside; their posture when they crouched, watching something on the floor; all the same.

The second glass only brought him a vivid memory of Sam, swaying his legs in the car seat, babbling about his cartoons while he tried to fasten his belt. Sam was a healthy, happy kid at the age of four, and no shadows hovered over his shoulder. Happy memories were the hardest to live through; with a little effort, he could still feel that happiness and love, so naïve and painfully fragile.

The third glass, full to the brim, couldn't erase those damn crayons, not even help dull it. He thought he could manage to look at Sam's drawing without a wish to kill himself. Years had passed; pain should've been buried deeper inside. No, he _knew_ he managed that. He checked the picture sometimes, looked at the life he once had. He even thought that absence of agony was a betrayal, as if ordinary pain was too little to give.

He had psyched himself up, in spite of that feeling, because he wanted to look at that paper occasionally, and be able to function again after that. It worked.

However, nothing could prepare him for this – to be returned directly into a moment, back when that picture was made.

The fourth glass. He knocked it down his throat in one swig, and felt nothing.

No amount of whiskey could erase fat little fingers clutching a crayon. Yeah, all four year olds moved the same way. All of them hovered over their drawings like a small bouncing ball, making the lines with immense concentration, lost for the world that stood witness. All of them wiped hair from their eyes the same way, smudging the crayon over their faces. _Over his face_.

The fifth glass.

They all giggled with the same voice. _Look at me, Daddy_!

The sixth glass.

Ed threw him one perplexed look. He didn't care. The blade in his chest was moving with every thought; he needed to stop it before the screams in his head drove him insane.

He had to run away from that room before he reached for the girls, before touching them. He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he would fall apart right then, in front of everybody. Because the only thing he wanted then, a need so overwhelming that he almost cried, was to take one of them into his arms and squeeze her with all his strength. To feel, just one more time, a small living being in his arms, to cradle it and just hold it near.

Seventh glass. His fingers trembled, and his breath went in and out in shallow, shaky shudders.

Amber nectar in his glass reflected the candles, and he stared at them, concentrated on the sparkles just to erase their tiny voices.

Ed's hands waved as he spoke; his voice was too quiet to go through all those memories, and bring him back. Only when he tapped him on his shoulder and pointed behind, did Nate raise his eyes to him. "…going to drive, aren't you? You have a bunch of cops here, don't do something stupid."

He had motioned to them, warning them of a drunk, Nate realized. He turned, slowly, to see them.

All cops at the tables were tense, darting warning stares at him. Only one sat leant back in his chair, and Nate felt his - only his - eyes going all over him in a lazy study. This bloke could be a male model; young, blonde, handsome and lean.

He straightened up and put a stupid, drunk smile on his face, and waved to them. He let that motion throw him off balance and swayed on his stool – Ed reached over the counter and grabbed his shoulder – but he returned his balance and gave the happy thumbs up to the cops.

When he turned back to his glass again, yet another hand stood there. Just stood, not moving, so steady – and so blocking his reach towards the bottle.

There was murderous, raging Eliot, and then there was _Is your drunk ass endangering the team_ Eliot, and he knew which one he would rather see now. He slowly raised his eyes. Oh yes, with murderous Eliot he could deal. With this one, with this brightness in his eyes… very hard. Most people believed that narrowed eyes were the sign of anger – they never saw Eliot Spencer with wide-open, bright eyes, never felt _that_ intensity coiling inside him.

"The fuck ya' doing?"

Eliot's voice was so controlled it was painful to listen to – Nate blinked once, enjoying a new feeling; only anger could dull the pain. Three more sentences and he would maybe be able to give a damn about anything. _Maybe_.

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Eliot saw the exact moment when all the darkness inside Nate turned to the new enemy, and prepared to lash out. His question hung in the air, and with Ed so near, every answer could be dangerous.

He sent one more smile. "I know him; I'll take it from here."

Ed sighed a breath of relief before moving to the other side of the counter.

"So, what are you doing?" he repeated his question.

"Giving the cops a typical drunk idiot who most certainly couldn't abduct any child," Nate said. His r's rolled a little, but not much, yet vitriol in his tone could gnaw through the counter. "And what you think you're doing? What if they checked with Ed, and he told them I was here with a woman? Who are you?"

"And what if they received security camera footage from the airport, showing that same drunk breaking into a white minibus and taking off with the girls in it?"

"Not likely. Not in this chaos. They would have already banged on our door, if they had any picture to show Ed. Look at them – they aren't hunting a fresh scent; they are taking a break."

At least his brain was still working. Eliot relaxed a little – as much as he could relax under the eyes of ten cops so damn close. "And you come up with that just now, or haven't you even thought about it?" he asked Nate.

"You were on the security cams too, and still you're here. Go away."

And leave him to finish the rest of the bottle? More than half was already missing, and Nate's eyes were blurry. So was his brain. And no matter how he always tried to convince them, he was on the top of his game when drunk, Eliot knew that chemistry would always win. People – even Nate – were slow under the influence. They – even Nate – made mistakes. Made him drink his ass off in front of the cops who were after them, _now_, for god's sake, now of all times.

The waves of anger grew with every thought, until it became almost impossible to control them, until a sheer need for smashing his head into the counter threatened to pour out.

Eliot put his other hand on the counter, to have them both in sight, just in case.

As always, his anger was laced with pity, with that terrible load of grief he felt within the man before him.

He was unable to help him, and that fueled his own fire.

He dared not to look at the cops. They might be able to see that fire in his eyes. _Two bullet holes. Concussion_. The fact he had to remind himself of that, so as not to start thinking about unleashing all that pain and violence on the ten cops, was worrying. And his presence here was endangering them all, just as Nate's was – they both weren't playing with full decks here.

Out of a corner of his eye, he saw one of the cops, a young, blonde guy, taking his coffee to Ed for a refill. Yeah, right, he used the same excuse hundreds of times, he knew a suspicious cop when he saw one. Ed poured quick sentences before he could think of something to divert him._ Here we go_.

"We have to go, Nate. Mr. Smith is no longer-"

"Any problems, gentlemen?" _Too late_.

He relaxed his posture and smiled. "Everything's fine, officer…."

"Lieutenant Schafer."

Eliot looked at the young face underneath the blonde hair. To have become a Lieutenant at his age, this man had to be damn good. He stood two steps away from him, and little to the side, so the rest of his men could see all three of them. Blue eyes of a poster-boy could fool someone else, but not him – under his smile, he saw razor sharp attention. Schafer waited for his name, and he had no idea what alias he had. If any. When his brain tried to dig the information up, it _hurt_.

Schafer divided into two shapes, danced a few seconds, then melted back into one. _Focus, Spencer_.

"Schafer?" he asked returning the same smile – no sharpness on his part to hide. "I knew a Schafer, he played a pitcher in a-"

"Ah, c'mon," Nate snarled at him. "Ed told him, so you can stop pretending we're friends." Nate turned in his chair, dangerously swaying, and his hand reached for the young cop's jacket, tapping his shoulder. "Yes, we argued – but we are all cvil… sviliz…civilized people here – and we'll deal with it. The lady who is with me was his girlfriend."

"She _is still_ my girlfriend."

"That's between you and Jenny, leave me out of it."

"She is just _confused_, and you ain't helping!"

"She is an adult, able to decide on her own."

"She is-"

"Wait," Schafer said. "She isn't your daughter? Who could tell?" Yep, definitely a mocking tone.

"I'm her boss," Nate dropped his eyes to the counter. He was doing pretty well, giving an impression of a much drunker person. "The storm caught us after the business meeting, we _had_ to stop here. I didn't know what else to do, so I said that, I wasn't trying to – you have to believe me-"

"And it's a happy chance that her boyfriend happened to come to the same motel in this storm?" A soft question. Schafer's smile stayed glued on his face.

Uh-oh. They had an _observer_ on their trail. Most people were easy to deceive with quick banter; they were listening, but they thought about it later. Observers were every grifter's nightmare – listening and thinking at the same time. They were able to slow the banter down and think, making connections, searching for illogical things.

Damn. Eliot rearranged his stance, taking his weight completely off the injured leg, preparing for a fight. Ten cops. In his current condition, he didn't stand a chance. Nate would be of no help, except, maybe, dealing with this one here. Nine armed, pissed off cops in one bouquet.

Seventy-six percent chance he would end up shot and dead, when they see they couldn't stop him. Twenty-two that he would live, but get arrested. And only two for something else to happen.

"A happy chance? That would be me, officer." One deadly, arctic voice said behind them. All of them turned to Sophie, and Eliot tried to hide a relief. His two percent just entered the building. "Though, I wouldn't call myself that," she continued. "I'm not _happy_. And it wasn't a chance, either." She slid between them and put one hand on Nate's shoulder, lowering her face to his. "Hello, darling," she purred into his ear. "Missed your wife, darling?"

Even Schafer made an _oops_ face. Nate was a picture of frozen guilt, desperation creeping through his eyes.

Sophie turned to Schafer. "This young man came to me whining about his suspicions. We followed them, lost them in the storm, turned to go back to Phoenix, got lost again, and stumbled upon this place. That was the only happy chance that happened here. Imagine our surprise when we saw his car?" She darted one poisoned glare at Nate, again. "Anything to say, darling?" Mr. _Smith_?

"Nothing happened." Nate's slurred whisper was barely audible. "I, I… why do you think I'm sitting here and drinking? I, I… I realized I couldn't do it. I wanted, god forgive me – a man of my age has to have a love affair… but when we came here, I just…couldn't do it." Nate raised his eyes to him. "And Jenny was trying to call you all this time. I'm sorry I caused all this mess."

"Oh," Sophie said just that. She wrapped her arms around Nate's neck, and her words became a muffled nonsense.

Schafer still watched them. Eliot leant upon the counter. Drinking directly from the bottle would be a nice move now, in character, but he couldn't do it. Concussion's retribution would be cruel. "So she wasn't…" he started. Schafer turned to him, waiting for the rest. "I thought she was cheating on me – all that time you stayed late at the office, and now this meeting, I was sure she woul-"

"We were working! But how would you know about our projects? When did you have a decent job last time? She feeds you both, you-"

Sophie followed Nate's cue immediately. Time to go, before those two find another thing to quarrel about. "That's it. Go get Jenny," Sophie said to him. "We'll leave this awful place."

"Only if you don't let him drive," Schafer said when she pulled Nate on his feet, steadying his swaying.

"Oh, don't worry," she purred again. "I will drive. He will listen."

Nate staggered. "If I hit you, would you arr-rrest me?" he asked Schafer. The cop backed off one-step, and raised his hand.

Sophie emptied her pocket and left the bills on the counter. "For the room and the bottle - keep the change," she said to Ed over her shoulder. Her hand guided Nate towards the door, and Eliot followed them with a sigh.

And with every step they took, he felt a pair of thoughtful eyes on their backs, studying them calmly.

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"Hardison, pack everything, we have to clear out. Prepare the girls. Tell Parker to get us two cars." The ice was still audible in Sophie's voice when they left the bar. "You have no more than five minutes, hurry."

She even managed to swipe her phone shut with a pissed off _sound_. Their phones didn't make any sounds.

Eliot didn't look at her while she spoke. Nate studied the floor around his feet.

"We had a perfect place to regroup, rest and plan our next moves," she said. "Now we have to drive again through this shit – and we are already who knows how many steps behind all this mess! What the hell were you thinking! You," she turned to Nate, and Eliot took one longer breath in. "You got hammered in a room full of cops, while having two kids in your bungalow! What if they asked to see it?"

"Nothing happene-"

"And you," she cut off Nate's words, and her fiery glare turned at him like a fire-thrower. _Swoosh_. "You showed yourself – and you ain't even a guest here – and drew everybody's attention by starting a fight with him?"

Shit, Annie Croy escaped through her words. "Sophie, we weren't fight-"

"You radiated an explosion closing in in five seconds! Cops are trained to see it, you moron! The only better way to draw their attention was to wear Hello Kitty backpacks hanging around your necks!"

"I'm not completely drunk, I 'm just-"

"Retarded idiot. That Schafer will remember this, and when he finally gets his hands on the surveillance cams, we're done. Three of us are blown. Move, both of you."

So they moved. Both of them.

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"Only one moron in each car."

Four minutes and thirty-six seconds was all it took Parker to bring them two car keys, but it was too little time to ease Sophie's rage.

Hardison had rubbed clean the green sheep from the carpet, packed their things, checked for blood traces in the bathroom, cleaned the trashcan, and took everything they had to the cars Parker had parked in front of the bungalow.

Eliot sat in one chair, Nate in the other.

"Hardison, you'll have to sneak into the car with Parker and Eliot, and bring one girl with you. You must not be seen. Nate and I will take another. We all have the address of their house, that's the meeting point."

"No," Eliot said, reluctant to draw her attention again. "I'm going into the house first. So if the two of you get there before us, don't go inside, wait for us."

"Okay, stop already," Hardison's patience was visibly evaporating. "You said the cops were just on a short break – why can't we just drive off in both cars, wait hidden in the storm until they clear out, and then return? I don't like this – we're retreating with our tails between our legs and-"

"No, Hardison." Nate raised his head to look at him. Eyes still blurry and red from the sand whipping around, but focused. "Prince Charming is a blood hound. He would wait, check, and wait more. Check him when you have a chance. Lieutenant Schafer, Phoenix PD."

"Prince What?"

"He is a cutie," Sophie said. "Big, baby blue eyes, and golden locks."

Eliot covered his eyes with his hand the same moment Nate did it; he was certain that their headaches resonated on the same frequency now.

"Parker, go keep an eye on the bar, and warn us if cops are going out," Sophie said. "Hardison and I will take each girl to one car."

The girls had their green turtle masks on again; silent and frightened, they just sat there on the bed in a miserable little heap. They left before Eliot lowered his hand to look at them.

This was arranged. No, it was orchestrated… and maestro would continue until the two of them dealt with whatever they had to deal with.

Nate came to the same conclusion. His posture stiffened.

Eliot tapped his fingers on the armrest. How the hell could he deal with watching a friend bend under so much slow burning pain? There was no anger left in him, it drained out somewhere along their walk back to bungalow. And that little play in the bar abated Nate's poisoned cloud into an usual dim veil as well. Nothing was simmering under the surface, poised to strike.

"Wanna change cars?" Nate asked. He didn't move, just turned his head to him.

"To drive with Sophie? No way."

"You think Parker and Hardison won't spend entire drive in bitching you out about this?"

Eliot said nothing. It took five years, but now, for the first time, he was willing to ignore all the dangers Nate's drinking brought to the team, if it did what it was supposed to do – to ease the pain. And he couldn't tell. Nate's eyes were burning from the sand, but his smirk was back in place, firmly carved into his features.

"Is it helping?" Eliot let the sentence hang between them for a second, then went on, "If the drinking is making this easier-"

"Enough!"

A door shut before him, and the same shutters fell over Nate's eyes – he would not let him get too close. Okay, maybe he was wrong; maybe he miscalculated that simmering, and nasty lashes were yet to come. Yet, this time, he could listen through it, not letting his anger ignite again.

The problem here was that Nate maybe needed exactly _that_ now. Nate could deal with anger – his usual, familiar reaction – and that stability would help more than this awkward trip into his _feelings_.

"Fuck off!" Eliot spat the words out, forcing the snarl back into his voice. "If I see you're endangering any of us, we'll talk differently, and you know that. I won't let you do anything stupid." _There. Usual mantra, usual anger. That would do for now_.

"You're the right person for that, indeed." Snap and strike, quick and nasty. But old, known, and comfortable. "Keep an eye on your own mistakes. I'll deal with mine."

And that was it; Nate got up and went out.

Order was established, their natural roles set back into place. They both knew how to behave after this. Yet, this time, a growling anger was difficult to perform convincingly, when all he wanted was to _help_.

Not the right time. And maybe the right time would never come for Nate.

Eliot slowly got up, glanced over the room one last time, and went to join the others by the cars.

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The car Parker stole for them smelled of cigarettes and pineapple air-freshener, and Eliot was too busy keeping his stomach steady to even try chirping to Mickey.

He used one of Parker's bags to support his back, and he lay sideways across the back seat. Pounding in his head didn't ease with all this moving and limping around – it only got worse.

Mickey sat on his right shin. Only that way she was tall enough to be secured with a seat belt. Every few seconds she let out a small sob.

"If you turn around, you can see lights of the other car," Hardison said from the front seat. "Manny is following us. She isn't gone."

Wrong move.

She wriggled out of the belt and tried to climb over the backrest to see better; Eliot stopped her in the last second. Parker's driving was unusually steady and slow, no sudden jerks, but it could change any second.

"Stop!" He pulled her down and glared at her. Damn, why they couldn't stumble upon bigger kids? He knew how to deal with kids, but not with such…tiny ones. They were unpredictable, like two miniature Parkers, set on a permanently giggly destruction mode.

Except those were the real tears now, no giggling at sight. Sobs grew into crying.

"Nice job," Hardison said. _What's wrong with you and why is everything you do either stupid, or completely wrong_ – he ended his thought inwardly, not sure would Hardison really say that, or he was just internally bitching himself. "Mickey, we are taking you to your mother, we won't take you away," Hardison continued. "And our friends are taking Manny. You'll see her very soon. We are going to your house, ya' know?"

No visible reaction, just more tears.

"You're our baby," Parker said.

Hardison cleared his throat, and Eliot caught his stupefied stare in the rearview mirror. His own wasn't stupefied, but, well… almost.

"She… what?" Hardison said, sounding as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

Parker turned to the back seat to look at the girl. Hardison panicky held the wheel. "In The Ice Age," Parker said, "el-e-fant, and two strange kitties, found the baby, right? They are taking it back to its father and hu-mans. That's you and Manny. We found you. We are taking you both back to your mother. So, you _are_ our baby. "

He had no idea what Parker just said, but the effect was instant. Mickey opened her mouth, a light in her eyes replacing the tears.

"Exactly!" Hardison jumped in. "Parker, will you please drive now- we don't have a snow storm and ice, but we have the dust storm, and that's the same! And we will bring you back to your Mommy, we promise!"

_Ah, damn, Hardison_…promising the things like that to the kids was never the wise move. Eliot let out one warning growl, knowing Mickey wouldn't catch the meaning. It was a question would Hardison catch it, too, he smiled happily at the girl.

Well, he would let him continue with that, because it worked. Mickey giggled at his growl – finally – covered her eyes with her hands, and asked, "Where's the baby?"

"That's right!" Hardison _laughed_ now. "You got it, girl! You nailed him down."

Idiots.

Mickey turned to him, the same laughter in her eyes, and crawled closer to him.

"No, stop, don't –" Too late. She climbed onto him, chuckled, and made herself comfortable. She was sitting on his stomach, her shoulder was mere two inches from his bandaged shoulder, and he didn't dare breathing.

"Awww, bonding time," Hardison cooed from the front. "Here, take this." He threw the tablet to Mickey. "You can snuggle and watch the movie – we have who knows how long to drive at this snail's pace. No, Parker, that wasn't – keep your foot off the gas, momma, or Eliot will puke and we don't want that, right?"

She really _snuggled_.

At least Hardison had enough decency – or his self-preservation skills jumped up significantly – to keep his head facing the road, not turning back anymore.

In the end, this wasn't so bad. She was as light as a feather, and she watched the movie for fifteen minutes before her eyelids drooped and she fell asleep. He kept her steady with his left arm wrapped around her, and let her drool on his shirt.

Driving lasted for more than two hours, and night colored the storm with indigo shadows. Phoenix was a living tomb. No street lights, only long lines of vehicle lights passing slowly, trying to find a way through the howling wind. GPS guided them through dark avenues and buildings that surrounded them like cliffs.

Sirens wailed through the night, but nothing could disturb a sleeping child.

It was a strange feeling, the one he couldn't quite decipher; his thoughts were annoyingly soft, and warmth almost ebbed the nausea away.

Maybe he should follow her example. Last night he hadn't slept a minute on the plane, the pain keeping him awake. This day hadn't been any better.

But every time he tried to close his eyes, he snapped awake. In the darkness behind his eyelids, in a place where everything was possible, this tiny gnome didn't have red curls. She had golden ones.

The future was a strange, terrifying place.

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Sophie was driving, and Nate had to sit with Manny on the back seat to keep an eye on her. It seemed that losing Mickey was the thing that threw her over the edge; there was no way to stop the hysterical howling. She screamed until exhaustion knocked her out, and she curled on the seat and slept.

Whiskey never dulled the painful memories. It could only do one thing – give power to the trivial thoughts, make them stronger, keep them in his mind longer.

That was the only purpose of his drinking, and it worked, it kept him sane. It was helping now, too. He could watch her. Waves of memories dissipated, overrun with details of her clothes. Half a bottle worked miracles, and the memory of Sam's first day at school seemed to last as long as his thinking about her yellow shoes did. Edges of pain were smoother; it was transformed into one general, low throbbing. No sudden stabs of the razor sharp blades, not even when she crawled closer, and used his leg as a pillow.

He should've brought that bottle with him. He needed more of it already.

He rested his hand on her curls, and covered her with his jacket.

With enough alcohol, the past was _only_ a strange, terrifying place.

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Parker's car was already parked in the front yard when they arrived. The one-story house was probably a cute, warm home, but this storm transformed it into a nightmarish castle, gloomy and black in the shadows of the naked trees.

Nate left Sophie with Manny – Sophie who hadn't said a word for the entire trip – and fought the wind across to the other car. There was no point in speaking, yells would only fly away, so he opened their door and got inside, along with the sand.

"Eliot went to check the house, said to wait here," Hardison croaked when they all stopped coughing.

"When?" he asked, eyeing the dark porch. He could only see shapes. Black windows and lighter columns seemed to move, as wind brought more sand in and out.

"Five min-"

His phone rang, cutting Hardison off, and he put him on the speakerphone.

"I see you've arrived," Eliot said, followed with double howling. "Send Parker and Hardison to find a house for sale in the street somewhere near. We can't stay here."

"Why, what's wrong?" Hardison asked.

"Someone's been here, and they might return," Eliot didn't sound pissed off because of the complication, and Nate listened better. "If we're alone, I would risk staying, but not with the girls. Go, Hardison, find a house." Yes, there was one too casual a note in his voice, too light.

"I guess you want me to come to you, to help you with search?" Nate asked, knowing the answer.

"I was just going to ask you that. I found torchlight in a lobby – I'll wait for you at the door. It's open."

Maybe there wasn't anything dangerous. Maybe he really needed one more pair of eyes, when Parker and Hardison were busy. Hell, maybe he needed a help with walking, or something like that.

But alcohol didn't mess up his thinking, and he knew something was wrong.

When Eliot opened the door for him, and torchlight showed him the darkness in his eyes, he knew.

"It isn't the mother, is she?" He stopped short at the door. Eliot pulled him inside and slammed the door shut. "She can't be, she is still at the airport." The torchlight shot back and forth around them, showing flashes of the usual hall. Two pink fairies on the wall held a scale of twins' height; words Mickey and Manny were sprayed with something dark.

"Not the mother, it's unknown, and male." Eliot still hadn't let go of his upper arm, and he took no steps deeper into the house. Nate silenced his own sinking feeling in the gut. Eliot didn't usually _touch_ people. Much less _held_ them.

And he really didn't want to see what could disturb Eliot Spencer to the point of this hesitation. He diverted his eyes from him, from the blood on the wall, and looked at the dark opening to the living room.

"The body is still warm. We missed the killer by two hours, no more," Eliot said. "I checked the house – he left. I found a desk computer in an upper room and brought it down, we'll take it to Hardison to see if he can find something-"

"Eliot," he stopped him. "Show me the body."

"Not a good idea. I can describe it to-"

"Eliot, stop." He lowered his gaze to his arm, and only then did Eliot release his grip. "What's wrong?" _Except someone was dead_.

Eliot waved to the other room instead of an answer, and led him to it. This time, he didn't cover up his limp.

Hell yes, a description would have been much wiser.

A guy was tied to a chair, and in the first second Nate thought he had a red shirt on. Then he looked closer.

The torchlight refused to stay still on the chair.

How the hell CSI people lived through this? He tried to observe this mess for clues, not thinking about a tortured victim, but he held it for only four seconds. He staggered a few steps aside, resting his forehead on the cold wall. The whiskey boiled in his stomach.

"They call him a contract investigator," he heard Eliot speaking. Quiet, yet precise words.

Nate turned around to look at him; the hitter stood in the circle of light, pointing the torchlight at the floor, making the body only a shadow in the dark. "He works only with a pocket knife," Eliot went on. "He doesn't have a frightful suitcase with shiny medical equipment. Only amateurs need that. He usually needs only one hour to get what he wants, because he works with two different pains, in layers. Surface pain caused by cuts, affecting the nerves directly under the skin – and deep pain, by direct stabs. Nothing life threatening. Just pain." He stopped, and his eyes quickly swiveled to the chair, and then returned to him. "The trick is in adding, and adding, and combining the sources, until there's only pain, inside and out, until the brain can't take any more."

Only one hour? That sounded impossible. But then Nate looked at the red shirt of blood and a pool around the chair, and swallowed the bile. "Are you just guessing, or…?"

"His name is Ian de Bruin. The _Brown Dutch_. I've heard of him, never met him, but this is his signature, his handiwork." Eliot's voice broke and he took one long, deep breath. "If he is called into this, this… job, we are in much deeper shit than we thought. And I have no idea what's going on."

Nate gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt, and went a step closer to the chair.

A pattern of cuts made a complicated lace around one arm, a crimson picture nailed to the skin with a few deeper stabs. Yet, under the red glistening and precisely drawn lines, there was another, darker shadow.

The girls were right. Steven _did_ have tattoos.

"You said he was here two hours ago," he said, forcing his brain to work. "They – whoever they are – are all after the girls, they need them. Only with the girls can they have leverage over the mother. They need them badly. He chose an ambush instead of a chase, he guessed the girls might tell someone where they live, but nothing more… and they – we – would bring them home. Logical. Babysitter's boyfriend maybe just stumbled in here by chance, or went to see if she was there. He couldn't tell him anything about the girls, he didn't know anything. Would an investigator of that caliber know if his victim simply didn't know shit? Why did he kill the boy? Why did he continue at all?"

"Even the best need to practice," Eliot sounded acrid. "Especially those who like what they do, and who improve their art with every-"

Nate's phone rang and his heart almost stopped. He plucked his pocket, almost dropping the phone. "Yes, Hardison?"

"Finally some luck on our side," the hacker said. "We didn't have to go far. We found a _For Sale _sign right across the street, and the position is perfect. No one would check the house before the storm stops, and it's functional, it has furniture and all." His voice grew quieter, as if he turned his head. "Parker, see how many bedrooms there is, will 'ya? What was I saying? Yes, the position. I'm looking directly at your door, I see the whole Johnstone house, and we can monitor people coming and going and wait-"

_De Bruin didn't get what he wanted_. A dread tightened his throat as Hardison's words sank in; he was just dimly aware of a desperate curse that escaped Eliot. The hitter was running already, disappearing through the door while Hardison still talked.

"Hardison!" he found his voice. "Get out of there! Take Parker and clear out, now! The killer will do the same, find a place to observe this house, and wait for another-"

"What, wait-"

"Just do it, get out! Hardison! Don't argue, don't ask, just-"

He stopped. For a second, only the howling of the wind came through his phone. One second, two seconds. He held his breath. Three seconds.

A silent click ended the call.

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	6. Chapter 6

**I hope this is the last disturbing chapter. No explicit violence ( I stopped counting Eliot's dealing with various thugs as violence), but theme and setting might be disturbing for someone. Consider yourself warned.**

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><p>Wow. I think I just managed to insert a horizontal line - after more than two years. I'm genius. No other explanation.<p>

TRTJ – Chapter 6

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Nate heard the slam of the shattered door even through the raging storm; Eliot went through the main door of the house across the street as if going through a curtain. He was only five seconds behind the hitter, yet he was hopelessly late. His heart was in his throat, fear thumping up and up with every beat.

A burst from some automatic weapon crashed through one window on the porch just as he reached the door. The flashes almost blinded him. He burst in through the dark entrance, but only one step. His foot caught something soft on the floor and he flew further into the darkness.

Nate landed on a table before the light disappeared, and ended amongst the broken wood on the floor. Another muzzle flash, another explosion; he could see Eliot for a moment. The hitter broke the hand clutching the weapon – a bone snapped with the same sound as the branch in the van - sending more bullets into the ceiling.

"Stay down! Hardis-" The sound of a heavy slam and grunting cut Eliot's words off. Nate grabbed a piece of the table, but there was nothing he could hit, and be sure he was hitting the right man. Two shapes, black on black, danced above him.

Just then he realized he fell over a body. "Hardison?" he called. His eyes betrayed him as he rubbed at them; instead it just dug the sand deeper.

"Over here." The hacker's words came from another place, but the blasting wind that entered after them made it impossible to hear him clearly; never mind actually locate him.

One more slam, more bone breaking. A body crashed on the floor with a sickening soft thud.

"Give me some light," a raspy voice said.

Bluish light from the other side of the room located Hardison, kneeling with his phone raised. Eliot took a gun from the floor, and took the magazine out. But he didn't throw it away, he checked the bullets and put it back in. "Take this," he threw a gun and Nate caught it by reflex. He met his eyes for a second, two spots of white heat, but his face was only a shadow. "Parker is upstairs. Stay here, both of you, back to back. Shoot at everything that moves."

And he was gone.

"Did he just say-" Hardison swallowed and shut up.

Nate was too shaken to even blink; he just stared at the dark smudge that finally showed the staircase.

He did tell him to _shoot_. He looked over the darkness that surrounded them, half expecting an attack.

Bluish light came closer, Hardison groped around him.

"What happened?" Nate asked. They both listened for anything from the upper story, but the wind made it impossible.

"This first guy pushed the gun into my face while we talked," Hardison said, tilting his head at the body near the door. "He took the phone and made me kneel, hands on my head, and then he spoke into his communicator – couldn't hear what. I grabbed a chair and yelled for Parker to run, but I didn't have time to hit anyone – before a freight train smashed down the door and the rest is just a big mess and fights. Which reminds me, he dropped his torchlight, help me find it." He turned the phone towards the floor. The sand that got inside swirled on the wooden floor; the wind grew stronger. All they heard was one long bellow.

A gun shot from above pierced through the noise. They said nothing; Nate just held the gun tighter. Going upstairs after Eliot in hunting mode would be dangerous and useless. He had to trust him to get Parker out. But Hardison couldn't stay here, and he had to pull him back down when the hacker sprang to his feet.

"You can't help him! Stay here!"

"What killer, Nate? What's going on?"

"Dead body in the other house. Tortured." And the man who did it was here. The one who made Eliot Spencer give him the gun, to _use_ it. He kept his aim towards the darkness, blinking more sand away from his eyes. The shadows around appeared to move.

"And he is upsta-" Hardison stopped, letting out one low growl.

Nate caught Hardison's arm for the second time, and held tighter. "No, Hardison! Help me find out… Eliot said that the guy's name is Ian de Bruin – the Brown Dutch. Check those two guys, see if there's something brownish about them."

He kept the gun pointing at the dark corners while Hardison crawled three steps to the nearest body. "Grey suit, dark hair," the hacker said. "What brown thing are we looking for?"

"I don't know." He spared a quick glance. Under the pale torch light, the guy looked altogether grey. "Search him. Tie him up, and then check the other one." He caught himself wishing if only one of them was de Bruin; that would ease this dread that hadn't let go since he entered the kids' home. _That would mean he isn't upstairs with Parker_.

"They have zip ties. Convenient. The other guy is young and blonde. Nothing brown on either of them. I think there was three or fo-"

A rumble sound from above moved closer to the stairs, and Nate slammed Hardison's arm to shut him up. Yes, there were voices, somewhere; he couldn't decipher who was speaking, everything was distorted, but-

"You know, yelling isn't always the best way to get what you want!"

_Parker_. That was definitely Parker. Hardison jumped to his feet; this time Nate didn't stop him, too relieved to do anything except lowering his aim at the floor.

"Next time, answer me at once, then I won't yell," Eliot was behind Parker; Nate could see them now, coming down the stairs. Parker dragged a body behind her. A man's head bumped off the stairs with every step. And Eliot… he was taking the stairs step by step, holding onto the railings with both hands. Somebody clearly forgot he couldn't walk normally, much less run. Nate knew that feeling completely – his own adrenaline had yet to start settling down.

"The rest of the house is clear," Eliot said. "We have to go." But he stayed a few steps up the stairs from them, sweeping the lobby with the torchlight.

"That's de Bruin?" Nate came closer. Parker left the man slumped on the floor while Hardison grabbed her into a hug. Light danced all around for a second, and he couldn't see the man.

"Nope," Eliot said. "Just another thug." He took another step down while speaking, but his leg gave way. He stumbled and caught the railing with the injured hand, and a hiss of pain melted into wind.

Nate grabbed him and stopped his fall. "Easy there, take a seat." He lowered him down onto the stairs. By the way Eliot kept his gaze focused at the same spot on the floor, he knew everything around him spun, and so he took a step back, leaving him to start breathing and thinking again.

"This one is awake," Hardison said, and Nate stepped closer.

"Where's de Bruin?" he asked the man; another grey suit, bald and trained. His neck was thicker than Nate's thigh. A nasty bruise colored his cheek bone, but he was blinking, trying to gather himself.

"Who?" he said.

Nate took the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at his head. "I don't have much time," he put all the ice he could muster in his voice. "Talk, or you're dead. I have two more men to question."

He knew he could be damn scary when he wanted to – and he wanted it now - and the thug's laugh was the last thing he expected. The man snorted at him. "I have two options," he said. "You can kill me because I won't talk. Or I can talk, and de Bruin will find out. What do you think I would choose? I have seen what was left over of people who talked."

Nate kept his gaze for a second, then shrugged. "Okay," he said and placed the gun on his forehead. And waited. But no pleas came, no panicky _wait, wait_, nothing. The man just closed his eyes and waited for the bullet.

Fuck, that wasn't normal. But the image of the body de Bruin left in kids' house flashed before his eyes. Someone who worked with him would've known all the details, and he knew what was waiting for him. He had probably seen how de Bruin dealt with traitors.

He removed the gun. "Tie him up, you two. Time to clear out."

He covered Parker and Hardison with the gun until he was sure the man wouldn't try anything, before going back to Eliot. He didn't ask anything, nor did he expect the hitter would say anything.

Only now did his heart beat slower from the previously panicked gallop. Whiskey was fueling his relief, he knew that, but after this fear, he would welcome anything that could erase it. Even if it included shaky knees.

Eliot had said the upper story was clear; he probably also checked the remainder of this one too, or he wouldn't simply sit there. De Bruin escaped – and Nate wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Eliot's reaction upon discovering his presence told Nate everything he needed to know about the man, and avoiding him in the near future would be first and foremost in all of his plans.

"What about them?" Hardison asked, waving to the three men on the floor.

"We'll send police to pick them up at some point. Anonymous call. Later. Let's go." He waited until Eliot stood up and went after Parker and Hardison, just in case, then followed them to the porch.

One more place they were forced to leave, in search of another place to stay and regroup. Damn, from the first step at that airport, they were chased around and forced to retreat, without any chance to turn it all around and finally strike their own blow. That had to change. Now. Before they left, they would take Natalie Johnstone's desktop computer that Eliot had brought downstairs. Hardison would find something on it, and they would finally-

His thoughts stopped immediately when all three of them stopped on the porch.

The street was still wrapped with clouds of sand, and everything visible was mere shapes in the darkness, yet he could see something different on the familiar shape across the street.

The door of their car where Sophie and Manny had waited waved open in the wind.

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"Where are you taking us?" Sophie asked the man sitting with her on the back seat of the limo. He shuffled a little, making more room for Manny. Resting his shoulder on the door gave him a better look at her, though he didn't have to turn to see her. She found that deeply annoying.

"Somewhere more comfortable," he said. She listened to his voice, noticing a soft guttural tone in it; she couldn't decipher that accent. He wasn't a thug, but he could be an organizer, she decided. He had that business, lawyer-ish look, complete with neat suit and manicured hands. He couldn't be older than she was, and with just one glance at his face, she knew he used hydration lotion on his face.

Picturing him putting on his Q10 lotion every evening helped with her fear, and she smiled at him.

He returned the smile. No wrinkles of laughter at the corners of his eyes.

She had no idea what had happened, and why Eliot and Nate ran to the other house only minutes after Parker and Hardison – they probably figured out the others had walked into an ambush over there. Working without earbuds _sucked_. She could do nothing when three men, this one, and the two sitting up front, had opened her car door and dragged them out. They took her phone and crushed it, and next thing she was pushed into this limo.

Hardison would have one hell of a nightmare finding her – but she didn't feel she was in immediate danger. Sophie Devereaux was capable of turning the stakes, even at this. She schooled her face into a permanent smile, not yet deciding which approach to take.

"Come here, darling." The man Manny onto his lap and Sophie held her breath. Yet, nothing disturbing was in his moves, his eyes. He tapped the child's shoulder with a typically uncertain gesture of a man not used to small children. And Manny – she settled down and closed her eyes, using his chest as a pillow.

Only then did she feel the first stab of real worry, when she realized why Manny wasn't afraid. That man radiated _nothing_. No threat, no comfort, nothing. For Manny, sleepy and confused, he was just an oddly shaped empty seat.

"Why aren't you asking anything?" she said. "Who are you?"

"You can call me Ian," he said. "I'll ask you a few questions when we arrive."

"Where are we going?"

"Not far." He glanced at his wrist; his watch confirmed her lawyer theory. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Then we'll talk."

"Patek Philippe, Calatrava collection, yellow gold," she said with a smile. "You have expensive taste."

"I do." He nodded. "A little weakness, I'm afraid."

A possible lawyer with a weakness for priceless watches; with pleasant yet ordinary features underneath thick black hair; clearly a man who treated his face and hands with immense care; a rich coldblooded shark in some corporate business – yes, he belonged in her world. She sailed those waters with grace for many years, and she had nothing to fear. That type of men used violence as a last resort, and almost by virtue, not while they were present. She would buy enough time while waiting for the team to catch up and get her out. She would gather more information from them than they would ever get from her.

Yet, his cold-bloodedness held an evasive edge; he wasn't hiding himself behind that mask. It seemed, no matter how crazy it sounded, that he simply had nothing to show. She couldn't _read_ him. He had no little traits, no eye movement, no tics on his face, and his hands were steady, almost limp. They didn't move while he spoke, his fingers didn't follow the conversation.

The only thing she could read with certainty was an interest. His eyes were beautiful – creamy pralines full of hazelnut in soft chocolate – and he watched her with that _interest_, with an intensity she hadn't seen, or felt, not even in the most enthralled of marks.

She didn't think about how to use it – no, she stopped thinking, stopped watching him, as a slow surge of unexplainable fear crept across her heart.

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Nate sent them all into the twin's house. Best choice for now – cover from the storm, relatively safe shelter from another eventual attack, and a place where Hardison could work on his laptop without five pounds of sand landing on his keyboard.

Eliot found Mickey in their car still sleeping. Whoever took Sophie and Manny hadn't check, or hadn't notice the other car and… heck, no, not _whoever_. He knew de Bruin had done it, there was no use in hoping someone else was involved.

He started counting minutes the moment he noticed they were gone, and with every increasing number his heart sank deeper.

He had to go after the others, to tell them that this was the end of Leverage Consulting and Associates as they knew it – or wait and watch for when that realization hit them. There'd be no recovering from this.

For almost five years he had managed to keep the real world away from them, keeping the cruelty and death at bay. It had been just a matter of time before he would fail, finally. He knew deep down that it would happen one day, but it cut at his heartstrings nevertheless.

He _had_ to enter that house and tell them that there were four minutes, at least, between them and de Bruin. Even if they started now – and they couldn't, they had no idea where he was taking her – it was four minutes of Sophie, de Bruin and his knife.

A sleepy child wrapped her arms around his neck, and that simple touch caught his breath, garnering unshed tears. He gritted his teeth, and blamed the wind for the moisture in his eyes. He staggered, and blamed the wind for his sloppy steps.

Every move he made felt so damn heavy. No hitter should feel the need to crawl away from this, not when a member of his team, his family, was being held captive. A heavy weight on his heart seemed to pull him down, slowing his moves.

When he finally entered the house with the girl, he saw Nate had remembered to close the door to the living room, sparing the others from observing the tortured body. The generous lobby was enough room for all of them.

He handed off Mickey to Parker and sent them both to sit on the stairs. He stood by the wall, and covered the bloody trail behind his back.

The manic energy around him was painful to watch. Never before had he seen Hardison's fingers move that fast, and all traces of whiskey evaporated from Nate's mind. The mastermind paced, up and down, up and down, thinking so visibly that he could almost pinpoint sentences whirling in the half-darkness around him.

He studied them. And only felt the onslaught of slow, creeping dread. His teeth were gritted so hard that his jaw hurt, and when he tried to speak, to _tell_ them, he couldn't. Their hope slowed him even more, sank further, deepening the ache in his heart.

Another minute passed, all sixty seconds stabbing him, one by one. He waited for Hardison to try everything he possibly could, before he forced himself to speak – only the hacker could do something now. He still had it, in spite of everything: a tiny spark of hope.

His dizziness returned and started a slow swirl inside his head. Maybe because of that his limbs felt leaden, and not because he knew that their time, and Sophie's time, weren't working the same way tonight. And as if in answer to his thoughts, Hardison said, "No phone, it's destroyed or shut down. Manny's tracker is here with us, and it's turned off."

Nate didn't stop his pace. Eliot watched him, waiting for the moment of realization – but Nate wrapped himself up within his own time, speeding his steps, creating a bubble in which they-still-could-find-her-in-time.

Another minute passed. Hardison's fingers started to slow down, too.

Hardison's words were muttered quietly. "De Bruin is non-existent in my world; I've sent web crawlers all around, to dig into everything and anything, but it will take time and perhaps leave us without result. I can't find where he might take them by searching his part in this mess. From our perspective; even less so. Not a single street camera at all, so no hint of which direction they went, much less the exact location. No satellite feed either, this storm has destroyed everything I would usually use. I'm working from the mark's part – but we still have to determine who the hell the actual mark is, before I can connect him to de Bruin, let alone to find something in common, or his hideouts."

The utter silence after his words was unbearable.

Nate stopped his steps. His thoughts were still running, but they ran on fumes. Eliot watched the mastermind with not a single plan. To formulate a plan, one had to know something. They had considerably less than thin air.

Just to be completely sure, Eliot asked Hardison, "Is there any chance you'll find her within the next half hour?"

"No."

This very night would add another nail to the coffin which Nate so carefully built for himself. Quite possibly the last one.

But now, when all the others could do was to wait in vain, it was _his_ time. He moved his ponderous arms, testing himself, and slowly exhaled, clearing his mind.

He killed half of Boston for them. There wasn't anything he wasn't capable of doing. _For them_. The price he would eventually pay was never important.

"Nate," he said. The word came out as a whisper; his throat was clenched and sore.

Nate caught the sound and turned toward him, but he said no more. He couldn't. He didn't know _how_ to say it. Nate kept his eyes on him, catching something odd, but it was obvious he hadn't yet figured out what. Hardison continued in the background,"-and that's the last thing, there's nothing I can do. We are helpless."

He almost squinted when the desperation in Hardison's voice hit him. Nate didn't squint.

"Except we ain't," Eliot finally said. "We ain't helpless." He took one long breath before he continued, "I can find out where he is taking them."

Nate got it immediately, and his eyes _died_.

Hardison, blessed, gentle Hardison, jumped in hope. "What? How? What the hell are you waiting for then, every second here is important…" His voice trailed into silence as he caught their gazes. "What?" he whispered.

"De Bruin's man is still conscious, over there in the other house." His own voice was almost as low as Hardison's whisper. "He will tell me the location of the gathering point."

"No, you heard him, he won't talk, he is too afraid of de Bruin, he would rather die than…" Hardison stopped and his hands, always frantically waving around him, fell limp by his sides.

Parker still didn't get it. She watched them with confusion in her wide open eyes – one more thing Eliot would forever be grateful for.

"He _will_ tell me," he repeated. Then he looked at Nate. "Nate?"

He knew what a terrible decision he placed in his hands. And he didn't want to watch him break down before his very eyes, yet he saw it, in the way his shoulders crumpled and his long fingers clutched then entwined. Nate saw the tortured body, and he knew that Sophie – _his Sophie_– was now eight minutes alone in de Bruin's hands. There was only one way to force the location from the man who had previously refused to talk.

Nate raised his eyes to him, and finally said, "No."

He never loved the man more than in that moment.

For one long, long second, he watched the essence of that man he knew so well, bare and naked, without anything to hide it. _You're an honest man_. And it was terrifying to see humanity in its purest form right there and then, in that moment when everything came crashing down. Their world lay shattered at their feet.

No price was too much to pay, especially when he knew for whom he would relinquish his soul. For them. For Sophie.

"Your _no_ is duly noted," Eliot said. "Now, stay here, all of you, and prepare the car before I get back."

That was it – the decision gave him his limbs back, his steps towards Parker were quick and light. No limping. He took the torchlight from her, not quite meeting her frozen stare, not quite looking at the red curls of the sleeping child in her arms.

He knew they wouldn't be so stupid as to try stopping him by force. But Hardison just couldn't let it go.

The hacker jumped in front of him blocking his way to the door. "No you ain't going in there!" he said, his voice half snarl, half panic. "That would make you no different than that, that – you can't do it!"

"I _am_ no different, Hardison."

"You are, you idiot, I know you – we all know you – Florence knows you and loves you, and you can't, simply can't do it now, when you have her, when you have a chance for-"

He growled, he couldn't help it; he stopped a hit directed at the face in front of him, and his hand changed direction. He grabbed Hardison's arm and pulled him along with him, a few steps towards the closed door. He opened it – a smell of blood hit their faces – and pushed Hardison two more steps closer to the body. The torchlight added a glistening vivacity to the scene, and Hardison let out a muffled yelp.

"Sophie probably has arrived already," Eliot said. "In the next minute or two, he will start doing _this_ to her. And I'm wasting my time with you." He left him there, frozen, and returned to the lobby.

By the time he returned, Nate had retrieved his composure – at least he was able to talk.

"Too big a price to pay, Eliot. Even De Bruin needs an hour to break a man, and you said he is the best. You, you…" he stumbled over the word for a moment. "You would be doing something from which you would never be able to….to forgive yourself. Hardison might even come up with something in the meantime. There are still options left, he might…"

Eliot looked at him and held his gaze. Nate stopped, swallowed. "What are you trying to say?"

"De Bruin might need an hour," he said. "I need seven minutes."

He opened the door and left.

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Sophie couldn't tell how long they had travelled for, but it felt less than ten minutes that had passed when they stopped in front of a huge garage door. No electricity; one of the men had to go to open it by hand.

"Wake up, darling. We have to go." Ian nudged Manny; a tender gesture that echoed in his smile. Sophie continued to study him through her eyelashes.

Bloody hell, she couldn't even describe him; his face was a normal, pleasant face, not the one who would make you turn around in search of him, but handsome enough to help him start a conversation in a bar. _Soft, hydrated skin_ _without wrinkles_ wasn't exactly something you told a police sketch artist. No marks, no anomalies.

The driver opened the door when he had parked inside of _something,_ and took Manny out. He held the torchlight between his teeth and the added influx of light upon Ian's face highlighted a detail she had missed before; his eyebrows were neatly plucked. Definitely a detail which would be noted upon every FBI 'most wanted' list, indeed.

She didn't wait for the other man to pull her out, she opened her own door. _Show no fear, and think about The Red Carpet and photographer's flashes_. Her smile matched the image, and the other man stopped short, two steps away from her, an involuntary smile returning her own.

Ian scrutinized, she felt his eyes. She turned around and sent that smile over the hood to him. "You have only two men?" she asked.

"I always have only five of my closest associates. They are my men – I don't count nameless goons my clients offer up as help with their cause," he said. "Three of them are now busy with something else."

"Ah, you're a manager of a boy-band, then?" She probed the waters with an initial dose of charm and warmth. He responded accordingly, smiling back. But that smile stayed on his lips, it didn't move the skin around his mouth.

"Nothing so fancy, I'm afraid. I prefer the term Maintenance Service," he said. "It sounds far better than plain _cleaners_, doesn't it?"

Well, their surroundings were appropriate for them. Somewhere big with an oily scent that lingered in the air. The high ceiling with metal parts reflected the torchlight. Good isolation, too – the wind that slammed into the walls with the strength of a sumo-wrestler pumped up on PCP could only be heard as a distant roar.

"Which reminds me…" He turned to the driver and said. "Call and inform our client that we have one girl. Tell him to send people to pick her up. He will have the location of the other one…" He looked at her now, studying her momentarily. This time she subsidized the dazzle in her smile, and set her eyes to steel.

A small smile appeared on his lips when he glanced at his watch and said, "…in fourteen minutes."

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Of course he was thinking of letting Eliot do it, and the shame still felt bitter in his mouth. He couldn't think clearly, he didn't have a single thought to form into any sort of plan, and his brain screamed with the images of knives, Sophie, knives, a man with no face, with knives, and _oh god, Sophie_… Eliot's offer, even a possibility of finding out where she was – fast - came with a treacherous companion; he would do it, and Nate's hands would be clean. And Sophie alive, and safe.

But looking in the eyes of the man before him, the slow dread swirling inside Eliot, brought another image – the same dread in Sophie's eyes when she found out what price was paid for her safety. He couldn't do it to her. He couldn't do it to Eliot.

He couldn't do it to that man. He would pay any price with his own life, but not with someone else's. Yes, the thug was probably a killer, too, but it didn't matter. A moment when one's life was measured by its worth, was a moment of stepping over the line, with no turning back. Life was life.

The hacker's face was ashen when he carefully closed the door of the living room.

"Keep working," Nate said to Hardison. "And stay together. I'm going to stop him and bring him back."

"How?" Hardison shook his head desperately. He slumped back towards his laptop, but didn't click a single key.

"By adding one more concussion," he put the gun in his pocket, and opened the door. "He won't expect that Nate Ford would even try to hit him when his back is turned on me."

"Your funeral," Hardison darted him one stupefied glare, and started typing.

There was nothing more to say.

He ran across the street – again – with almost the same panic he felt the first time.

Eliot couldn't close the shattered door, thank god, so he simply slid inside, holding his breath.

Any other time coming so close to Eliot without him noticing was impossible, but the storm covered each and every sound. He even lowered his breathing and silenced his thoughts, just in case, knowing that Eliot's sense of another's presence didn't depend on sounds alone; it was more than that.

Eliot dragged the bald thug away from the lobby, through the arched passage into another room. Feint light helped Nate to pass the lobby without stumbling over any debris.

The hitter secured the torchlight upwards, pointing to the ceiling, so the soft light spread from above, giving enough light to see everything clearly. It had been a dining room, and the massive wooden table was still there. The thug's hands were tied behind his back and secured to one leg of the table, and he simply sat on the floor.

Nate stood one step away from the arch, in pitch black shadow. Even if they looked directly at him, they wouldn't penetrate the darkness. But they were more than twenty feet away from him, and he had no chance to get closer to Eliot without him first noticing.

His stomach churned when he realized he would have to wait for the hitter to start with this, until all his concentration was directed upon the man before him. Only then would he have a chance to clout him with the gun, and live. It would probably end the same way as hitting a hungry tiger with a tennis racket would; he should just turn around. But he had no other option, not now when Eliot had made the decision. He groped the gun tighter; his palms were sticky with sweat, and his heart full of fear for Sophie, for all of them, for Eliot, it tied his stomach up in cold shackles.

Eliot watched the thug with his hands in the pockets, standing a few steps away.

Before Nate could hope he was having second thoughts, he moved.

His every move was lazy, as if he had all time of this world. He put a chair in front of the man, very close, turned the backrest to him, and sat. He hugged the backrest in one comfortable move, and Nate couldn't tell if he was hiding the restrained movement of his shoulder, or he simply didn't feel any of his pain now.

"De Bruin has my friend," he said. "I don't have much time to get her out. I need you to tell me where they are."

"Go to hell."

"I know you're afraid of him. We can make you disappear and protect you from him."

"Two men thought the same. He found one of them in a village in Nigeria. The other thought that the witness protection program was safe enough. It took him less than a month to find him." There wasn't any fear in the man's voice, just bitter defiance. "But before he killed them, he tracked down their families. So whoever you are, just go away. I won't tell you anything."

"My name is Eliot Spencer."

Nate closed his eyes, to get himself together; no, this wasn't Eliot letting the man know he would kill him at the end – he forgot the world Eliot was living in. He simply let him know with whom he was dealing with. That name meant something.

And it meant something to this guy. The brief silence fell.

"De Bruin has _my friend_," Eliot repeated slowly, and this time, those words sank in differently. The thug seemed to shrink in size, a disturbing sight from someone so heavily built.

"No. Not talking." This time words came with a tremble in them, the same tremble Nate felt in his fingers. Eliot's concentration seemed to be set on the man completely, and maybe now was the time for Nate to come closer and-

"Do you know what de Bruin will do when he finds you here?" Eliot's voice changed. It fell into colorless rasp, and Nate held his breath. "He will look at you with pity."

"What- what are you sayin'?"

Eliot slowly got up and moved the chair away. He knelt on the floor in front of the man, and sat back on his heels. Nate couldn't see the way he regarded the thug, but his head was tilted, and the thug withdrew with a whimpering sound.

"I'm sayin'," he drawled, and the softness of that sound scraped over Nate's every nerve. "That torturers who enjoy their work, lack in efficiency. He _might_ be the best. He might know and feel every little reaction from his victims. He might even play with pain, making a work of art, submitting each victim to his will. I don't have time for that. I need an address of tonight's gathering point. And I need it now."

He still didn't make a move towards the man; his hands remained still, resting on his thighs. But Nate could feel, more than see, compressed forces whirling inside his muscles.

Nate used one nasty slam of the wind, and took one step further.

"But I know one more thing about de Bruin," Eliot continued. "I know that pain isn't the main thing that makes his victims talk. It's hope. He feeds them with hope and pain in equal measure. His cuts and stabs ain't life threatening, and he makes sure they know they would live if they tell him what he wants. He rarely does, but that's beside the point. That's the real sadism; watching their hope, not pain. Again, I have no time for that, either."

His left hand reached forward – one more whimpering sound.

"I will give you no hope." The softness was gone, and his voice sounded absent, disconnected. "There's no eventual normal life for you even if you tell me. Because," he leaned a little forward and coldness went up Nate's spine. "Because at the same time, that hope is what prevents his tougher victims from telling. Funny, isn't it?" His hand finally reached the man's face, and his fingers drew a vertical line from his forehead, down the bruised cheekbone, to his jaw. And stopped there. "First, I will cut all tendons in your limbs," he said with that awful toneless sound. "Shoulders, elbows, knees and ankles. You will never walk or move your arms again. Then I'll take your sight. I'll take your hearing last, so you can hear all my questions. All of that will take only ninety seconds. Just after that, I'll start with pain, after you're destroyed. Because I have no time for playin'. After you tell me what I want to know, you will beg me to kill you, and I'll let you live – all those long, long years of agony in bed, in complete darkness, and in utter silence. And I'll start in ten seconds, so take a deep breath."

"A warehouse." The whisper was barely heard above the wind. "Mason Street 234."

"How many people?"

"N-none, as far as I know."

"Thank you."

Eliot moved forward; a fierce slam with his elbow at the already purple bruise, and the thug went limp without any sound. But the hitter stayed on the floor, not moving, not getting up. His head hung lowered.

Nate stared at his back for a few seconds. Time, he reminded himself. They were losing time. But his fingers were dumb, and his phone was dancing in his hand when he pulled it out.

"Hardison," he said. "Mason Street 234. Search everything about it – no, he didn't, he just scared the hell outta him - tell Parker to put the mother's computer in the car, pack everything and pick us up. Hurry."

He ended the call. Eliot still hadn't moved. He'd give him a few more seconds before going there to him. God knew he needed those seconds, too.

"It wouldn't work," he heard a whisper. "Knocking me out. When you passed through the front door, you interrupted the steady flow of wind coming inside. It changed the sound. But thank you for trying."

Nate went to him and leant upon the table so he could see his face. Nothing alarming, nothing physical to see, but he felt his inner silence rumble. It echoed emptiness more than his wide open, yet still shuttered eyes.

Eliot didn't do anything, but Nate knew the price had been paid nevertheless. A regret coiled deep inside him, mixed with fear that still held him in its tight grasp.

"I had to try," he said to his hitter. "Some things just aren't acceptable." Eliot's shoulders tensed, an involuntary twitch he could no longer hide, and he lowered his head again. "And there are some things I would never make you, force you, or even let you do."

"And some things ain't your call," Eliot said normally, but Nate knew better; he still didn't make any movement. His head was lowered and his hair made enough shadows to hide his eyes now; if he looked up, there would be only raw pain and despair in those eyes.

"We just saw that some things aren't your call either. At least, not anymore," Nate said. It was the closest thing to comfort he could give him now. No time for what he really wanted to say, for all the words accumulated in his chest. No easy way to express what this price truly meant to him. Sometimes, self-sacrifices weren't measured in scars, or lost lives. The ugliest ones took parts of the soul each time they haunted him.

"Stop it with that crap," Eliot said, and his snarl was back in place. Even if Nate knew how to tell him, Eliot wouldn't let him say another word.

"Yeah, you're right." Nate forced his smile and reached out with his hand. "Now get up, we have to go."

Maybe Eliot wouldn't let him talk, but this time he did let him pull him up onto his feet. He could barely stand, exhausted to the brink of collapse.

He wouldn't let him talk, but he let him support him while they walked to the porch. Nate had to hide a smile; an amount of trust – and an acceptance of all the words he didn't say - was measured by the amount of his weight he let him. They worked the best without talking, anyway – the unspoken things, gestures and boundaries, worked for them instead.

A car horn honked when they entered the wind again, the others were ready and waiting.

Hardison lunged out to help them with those last few steps to the car, to the back seat where Eliot could again half lie.

Parker started the engine and they flew into light speed. Nobody said a word until they left the block.

Then Hardison turned around to them.

No smile in his careful eyes. "You wouldn't do it?" he asked Eliot. "If he didn't buy it, if he saw through your bluffing – because it was bluffing, right? You wouldn't, actually… do t-those things?"

Eliot put a smile of his face, and softened his jaw. "Of course not," he said.

He didn't look at Nate. Nate didn't look at him.

When Mickey tried to snuggle up to Eliot, he pushed her away.

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	7. Chapter 7

TRTJ – Chapter 7

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The concrete floor of a smaller room which they entered after passing through the larger, main hall was covered with plastic. Torchlights dancing around showed Sophie reflections from only metal and glass; tables, chairs, cupboards, everything was silvery. Not a single piece of wood in sight.

Sophie was free to walk around. Ian entered before them all, and now he was busy with a cupboard, removing something from inside. His two henchmen stayed behind her and Manny, taking up positions on either side of the dark passage that led back to the main hangar; reminiscent of two columns.

"I'm cold," Manny whispered with her nose stuck into Sophie's thigh.

Taking off her jacket was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She was still dressed in comfortable pants and blouse she had chosen for their long flight. It had only been yesterday, and yet it already felt like a century ago. The soles of her shoes, also comfortably low, crunched on the plastic sheets. She had stepped in oil somewhere on her travels and the blasted sand had stuck to it.

She wrapped Manny in her jacket and picked the child up, her eyes sweeping the room. The mere thought of Manny touching any of that plastic, or anything metal in here made her feel sick.

"Everything is sterilized, she is safe," Ian said. He had taken his suit jacket off too, and now he simply threw it in her direction. "Take this – she can sit on it if she's still cold."

"Thank you," she said. Her fingers, invisible, danced over the jacket, but all pockets were empty. She put it on one of metal cupboards and lifted Manny up so she could sit on it, turned to face the two men at the door, not the middle of the room where Ian stood. Especially not the metal chair between two tables, which sat ominously in the middle of the plastic sheeting.

"I have no intentions of traumatizing a child. You don't need to worry about _that_," Ian said. "They will pick her up in a couple of minutes. Why don't you come here and sit with me?"

That was an order, not a suggestion. Sophie tucked her jacket closer around the girl, and left her on her cupboard.

Ian brought out one huge, square reflector, and pointed it at the back wall. Cold neon light only added to the coldness of the room, causing her to shiver. It wasn't really _cold_ in here, not even a slightest wisp of wind dare to enter this place – but even Manny felt its chill.

Well, it was time for another attempt at reading this man. Her first attempt had missed completely. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and took off his watch. She was nobody's fool. She knew what this place was used for – only _his_ exact role in all of this remained blurry.

He offered her a stool by the table, taking another one for himself.

"If I may offer some advice," he continued without waiting for Sophie's agreement, "It would be in your best interest to tell me everything I want to know _before_ they take the child away."

His normality was frightening. As if nothing macabre was happening, and she was just a guest he had to entertain until the others arrived. And she had no idea when, or how, Hardison would manage to find her here. She smiled, and hoped her voice would remain steady.

"Hypothetically speaking… should I decide to remain silent, what would your next move be?"

"I'm a Contract Investigator – I'm paid to retrieve data from people. Mostly by torture." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys. Her eyes were trained to examine the keys first, and she recognized the car key, two very simple, and three professional keys for security doors. One of them looked like a safe key. Parker would know precisely. But then she noticed a strange key pendant. It was yellow gold, the same as his watch, and as long as a pen. He took it off and opened it, revealing a steel blade. _A butterfly knife_. He actually had the knife as a key ring, for god's sake. She raised her eyebrows. "And where do you keep your diamond covered pliers, on a chain around your neck?"

"I have no need for them." He put away the keys, leaving only the knife on the table. The cold blade glistered between the two of them, drawing her eyes to it, and Sophie had to physically restrain herself to keep her gaze from it.

She also had to keep talking, but it took more and more effort with every passing second. "You must be very good in your job, if you can afford all those expensive weaknesses."

"It's not a job." Now he returned a smile. "It's a calling. And they pay me for that, as a bonus. I've made a world-known franchise out of my hobby, sort to speak."

"So you will be disappointed if I tell all? What if your client says not to kill me?"

"Nothing, I simply won't kill you – you will be delivered to them alive," he said. "My interest isn't in killing people. I'm fascinated with their reactions to pain and pressure. Their disposition is what drives me, not their bodily functions. I always search for something exciting, something new to discover. Someone who might show me a new way of fighting the torture, someone worthy of my time... and respect. But people are often so predictable. Will you surprise me, dear lady?" his calm eyes fell on her face. "Will you present me with a suitable… gratification?"

She caught his stare and held it. "I already have," she said.

This time, his smile touched his eyes. "What do you mean?" His question rhetorical to gauge her reply.

"I suppose you have had your share of female victims before. How did they behave when they realized what was going to happen?"

He tilted his head to the other side, waiting.

"You have no idea who I am," she continued. "Nor why am I sitting here and talking to you, instead of screaming and crying in panic."

"True," he said. "They were boring as hell." He reached for her hand – very slowly, as if not to startle her - and gently slid his fingers on her up-turned palm, moving up to the wrist. Then he raised his eyes to her and said, "In the end, everybody screams."

It was the way he said it, not the words, that cut off her breath completely. Just a statement, simple declaration, said with such terrifying certainty. She withdrew her hand, put her elbow on the table and leant her cheek upon it. The Arctic cold surface seized her skin through the thin sleeve. He moved in an instant, just an inch aside, stepping into that opening of her personal space. And he did it reflexively, as though it was a natural flow, not a mastered skill.

How many minutes had she bought with this? She couldn't say – she just knew she had to keep him here, sitting down, as long as she could.

"What do you want to know?" she said. "Give me the three most important questions, and I will think about the answers."

"Identity of your group is my first. Exact method of contact used to warn you to be at the airport to remove the children. The location of the other g-" He stopped, looking behind her. "No, darling, don't open that…"

Sophie quickly turned around; Manny was at the other side of the room, and she pulled open drawers of the cupboards. "You better not have any of-"

"I said she is safe! They are empty – she can only drop them on her leg."

And there it was; a strange twitch in his voice. He almost spat the first sentence, the first time he changed his pleasant, calm way of speaking. As if he was offended that she thought he would endanger a child. Even sadistic torturers had to have some proof of their own humanity to cling to.

"Why should I believe you?" she quickly asked. "Maybe children give you the best show."

His face turned into a grimace of offended disgust, and she smiled when she noticed a wrinkle on his perfect forehead. "What? It is a logical presumption, after all."

He was too clever to fall for that and start explaining, but she was satisfied with her small victory. She understood disgust, but that offended-ness said something important, something worth exploring. Before she could think of how to use it, a phone rang at the door, an Imperial March theme played a few notes before the thug answered it. "Yes, yes, I'll tell him," she heard him say. "Boss, they just entered the block, will be here in two minutes. Shall I take the girl to them, or-"

"No, she'll wait for them here."

No time for anything. She couldn't think of something that would keep Manny here; and the moment they were all gone, she would be alone with him and his thugs. No way to stall any further; her heart quivered.

"Start thinking about your answers," Ian said. He got up and went back to the cupboard he first examined, leaving her alone.

She saw one back door on the well-lit wall, opposite the thugs' position, but she knew she didn't have any chance of grabbing the girl and running through it. Maybe if she just shoved Manny through it – how long could she keep them occupied, blocking their way? Two seconds, no more. And Manny wouldn't know what to do, where to run to in this darkness. No, she couldn't even-

A wisp of her hair moved. She hadn't moved her head. The wisp moved again, flew up and danced in a slow stream of air coming from the main hangar. She quickly tucked it behind her ear before somebody noticed its dance. If the incoming party entered the block when they called, they couldn't be there already. Somebody else had beaten them to it. She held her breath, not daring to hope.

Manny giggled and Sophie quickly turned to her.

The girl was watching something going on behind the two men guarding the passage, her face blossoming in a smile.

"I will bring her here, just in case," Sophie said and went to her before Ian could stop her; she blocked his view to the girl at the last second.

Because Manny giggled once again, raising her hands, formed the claws, and said: _rawwr_.

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"You don't use lights on a getaway car."

That was Parker's only explanation of the drive that made Nate almost forget about his fear for Sophie. Hardison, according to his hands clutching his laptop on his chest, forgot even his own name. Even Eliot gave in; he pulled Mickey to himself and basically wrapped himself around her.

Nate had no distractions; he had to watch Parker making a twelve-minute drive in only three and a half, through a pitch black sand storm, in some unknown town. On streets covered with three inches of sand.

When she stopped in front of the dark building, all three of them _fell_ out of the car, mostly unable to speak, trying to glue together all their shaken and disconnected joints. No wind could erase the smell of burning tires around them. Nate needed almost fifteen seconds to re-wire his brain again.

The car wasn't such a good barrier against the sand and they all ducked behind it, protecting their eyes.

"Hardison?" he said.

"Nothing. No electricity so no cameras, no feed I can break in on, no alarms, no blueprints. They are naked, but so are we." Hardison pointed to his laptop on the back seat. "We'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

Eliot left Mickey in the car and tucked her in to sleep, then joined them again. "That means two minutes more, Nate. I have to go and check all the exits, to find a way in. Parker will open the door for me and ya'll stay here until I call you."

"Nice try," Nate said.

"Okay. Follow me, but not too close. C'mon, Hardison, I'm going right, you go left, meet me at the back of the building."

Nothing more to say, they disappeared from his sight after only a few steps. De Bruin's thug had said there were no men outside this warehouse, but he could have lied. They didn't know what to expect.

Two minutes more. Waiting outside, while knowing she was in there with de Bruin was almost unbearable. But those two minutes could mean the difference between life and death. They couldn't risk entering the wrong door, or giving away their positions to de Bruin too early. A man with a knife, in a huge warehouse, could do whatever he wanted while Eliot ran three hundred feet towards him.

It would be quiet inside, and that was another problem. Eliot could use something that would cover his approach, and give him more time to attack unnoticed.

Nate diverted his eyes from the huge dark mass, and turned to the thief that stood silently by the drivers' door, waiting for instructions.

"Parker… Is this warehouse built of straw, wood, or brick?"

"What?"

Ah yes, he forgot her childhood wasn't exactly filled with bedtime stories. "We have a big bad wolf on our side, and we'll let him blow this house away."

"Eliot?"

"No, Parker, the dust storm. It's time to use it, finally, in our favor." He motioned to the air above their heads. "Go up, onto the roof, find all the weak spots, find all openings. See if there's some way to let the wind in – we need to set it free inside, let it flow into the warehouse and fill it, and fill it, until the pressure blows up to the point of explosion, until it can't fill it anymore and it has to burst out."

"And a result will be…?"

"We'll crash the ceiling down onto Ian de Bruin's head."

She turned around and disappeared, and he bit his lip. Sometimes, he forgot she took all things literally.

_Two minutes_. He paced alongside the car, then got in and moved it to the other side of the street, in line with three more parked cars. He checked on Mickey; she slept on Parker's bags, not disturbed by the storm that rocked her metal cradle.

He was pretty sure he spent one minute on all that. The second minute dragged endlessly, until it ended with a flash of light at the far end of the street.

Two cars, approaching slowly, trying to find a place to park. And he couldn't use his phone to warn the others, no one would hear the ringing with this howling all around.

He ran across the street, hidden by the sand veils, and hurried after Eliot and Hardison.

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A sudden bellow of wind shrieked in almost human voice inside the closed warehouse. The wind rushed, and swirled, slamming into obstacles, fighting to set itself free in wild howling, and Sophie couldn't hear her own voice when she cried to Manny to stay where she was.

Two goons at the door drew their guns and stepped into the darkness of the main hangar. It seemed that the wind threw away even the rays of light – yet she knew it was the dust in it that blocked their torchlights.

She ran to Manny. Her giggle was cut off when the wind burst in, and the girl jumped into her arms and clutched at her with all her strength. She wrapped the girl in both jackets and fastened them around her. If that really was Eliot that she saw in the darkness behind the goons, this would soon be over and they might have to run into the storm – but Sophie didn't let her own hopes to lull her.

This could be just a broken window, nothing more. Hope was now more dangerous than panic.

A cut off scream forced its way through the wind, and Ian pulled a gun out.

"Stay where you are," Ian's order came when she took her first step to the back wall. He pointed the gun at them, and waved to her. "Here, to the table. Move! Don't think I won't-"

One thug came flying backwards and ended in the middle of the plastic sheeting, right in front of de Bruin.

Eliot followed only one step behind him, and de Bruin's gun turned from her to the new danger.

In that very moment, Hardison opened the back door. She should've run to him, taken Manny out of the danger zone, but she just stood there, frozen, staring at Eliot. She had seen him charging before, seen his face set in rage, fear or anger… but _this_ was something else.

He didn't charge. He took just one step inside, slow and lean like a tiger preparing to crouch before the jump, facing de Bruin and his gun as if he were unarmed. No rage… just a rattle-snake smile and white heat in his eyes, burning from the inside.

De Bruin extended his arm, gun pointing directly at Eliot's head, and Sophie held a gasp. Eliot didn't duck or step aside, he just grabbed a chair and swirled it forward. It slammed the reflector on the table the same moment when gun went off. The sharp whistle of the ricochet pierced Sophie's ears.

Light from a discarded torch on the floor was now the only respite from complete darkness, and she blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden darkening. Hardison was behind her, he pulled her with him, but she pushed Manny into his arms and stayed where she was.

De Bruin didn't have time for a second shot. She turned back toward them right in time to watch him flying backwards, slammed across his face. The gun clattered on the cupboards, fell into darkness and out of his reach. He wasn't completely knocked out, but he was no longer a danger anymore; just a heap of sprawled limbs, with unfocused eyes that blinked.

"That's the last one here," she heard Hardison behind her. "Time to clear out, go, go."

But she stayed. De Bruin's hand blindly felt around him on the floor, searching for the gun. Eliot hadn't moved, he stood above him, and watched him.

He turned around when she thought to call him, and looked at her. No more white heat in his eyes. He _stared_ at her, scrutinized her face with an eagerness she had never seen before. He swayed and stumbled one step towards her, but that intensity in his gaze stopped her every eventual move. She had never seen him so unstrung, so thrown off balance; and she could feel something heavy brewing right behind those frantic eyes.

"Eliot, what…" she whispered – and watched the dam in his eyes broke at the sound of her voice.

He was by her side in a second and, dear god, now she knew the exact meaning of a bone crushing hug. The air from her lungs escaped in a small yelp when he grabbed her and pulled her to his chest. He held her so tight she could barely inhale. He had never done this in five years, and she just stood stupefied. Shielding her, helping her, even training her – yes, very often; but a real embrace, never. _Ever_.

"Seriously? _Seriously_? Now's the time for getting all mushy?" Hardison's low muttering came from behind. "Must be the concussion. Come on, Manny; let's find a way out..."

But no words could penetrate _this_; she carefully wrapped her arms around his back, feeling every tremble in his muscles. What on earth had happened? Her confusion coiled into worry, but she returned the hug with the same strength, as if her arms could stop his tearing apart at the seams, and keep him whole.

"It is okay, Eliot," she whispered; a lump in her throat preventing her from using her usual voice. She buried her face in his neck, and let him hold her, and hold her, radiating only calm onto him, until his breathing stopped coming in shallow bursts.

And she did keep an eye on her captor's groggy eyes – a thing Eliot forgot, turning his back on him. She was the one who saw Nate – finally – when he rushed into the room. But he stopped mid-step. His eyes were burning with the same intensity as Eliot's had, but he backed away.

He was giving them time. He was giving him _this_. And she couldn't decipher, in this dim light, what was going on in his head. She could only read his relief.

A steel cage around her still desperately clung to her, tremble set heavier within his grasp, but she felt Eliot was clawing his way back to the present. He was now leaning against her, his head bowed to her, and she tightened her arms to give him support, too. "He didn't do anything, didn't even touch me," she whispered in his hair. "And Manny is safe. She is not even scared. We are fine. We can go."

He loosened his death grip, and raised his head. "I know. I just-" A hoarse, tired voice. He stopped and shook his head. And she knew he knew she was fine, because even now, when he let her go, he kept his hands on her shoulders, and his fingers unknowingly felt her bones and muscles, barely noticeable little movements, checking if she was all right. It hurt seeing him like this, so… open and vulnerable – but Sophie knew better than to show any of her thoughts. At least his eyes cleared from that terrifying turmoil, settling down to something akin to relief.

"Hardison, wait," Nate had waited for Eliot to speak before he said that, she noticed. They both turned to him. She didn't let go of Eliot, she slipped her hand around his waist; there was a dangerous sway in his turning around, when his injured arm slid from her shoulder. "We have two new cars full of new thugs, parking out front as we speak," Nate continued. "We'll have to clear out through the back entrance."

A clang emanated from above. Parker's head, turned upside down, emerged from the darkness. "What about the ceiling?" She flipped over and jumped down. "It's drywall, only cardboard in this part, they only used staples to fasten it, and I can tear it all down with only one sway on the chandelier-"

"No, Parker, that won't be necessary for now."

"And what about him?" Hardison pointed at de Bruin. "What, we just leave him there, let him continue with, with…" He shook his head. "We should take him with us before the others arrive, and deliver him to the cops."

"We have twenty seconds to clear out," Nate said. He bent to pick up the torch. "We can't take prisoners, five of us with two children. We'll deal with him another time."

Sophie looked at de Bruin, and coldness once more rushed over her skin. "No, he would disappear."

"And she's damn right," Hardison said. "He flies under the radar, nobody knows anything about him, and he's invisible from all my searches. If we let him go now, my crawlers…"

"He won't be invisible anymore," Eliot said quietly. They all turned to him. "And even if he managed to skip away after we deal with this mess, he won't last long." He carefully removed her hand; Sophie reached for him to stop him, too late – that damn intensity was back, in his eyes, in his steps to the table.

He took the golden butterfly knife, and blade flickered in the light when he opened it with two quick moves of one hand.

"Eliot what are you-." Nate's question came too late; he was already hovering over de Bruin.

Realization hit her too late; she knew what he was planning to do. "Eliot, no!" She lurched after him, to stop him, but a scream of rage and pain covered her words, "Not his face…" her words, so bloody late, trailed into silence.

The scream ended with a gasp when Eliot slammed de Bruin's head into the floor, but not before she saw two bloody lines on his cheek. Eliot flicked the knife shut – an ominous click, clear even in the howl of the wind - and straightened up.

"Hardison, send the word out," his voice was cold and precise. "Many people will find this little souvenir useful in their search for him. Open the hunting season. He will never be safe again."

"Later," Nate said. He threw the torch to the hacker. "Now, lead the way out. Eliot, take Manny. Parker, cars. Hurry up."

Everybody moved, and right on time. The wind changed sound when another huge door at the front of the hangar opened, letting the newcomers in – but they shut the back door behind them and Parker destroyed the lock. Nate's hand finally found hers, in half- darkness. They followed Hardison through the unknown corridor, to one of the many rear doors.

But Sophie had turned around before she left, and the blind fury in those chocolate eyes followed her steps. Her mouth was dry. Her steps, though they ought to be light – finally free of danger – were leaden and clumsy, as a terrible dread set in her heart.

_Not his face._ _Anything_ but his face.

And she knew Eliot Spencer had made a terrible mistake.

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Parker didn't waste time searching the darkness behind the warehouse. She told them all to stay hidden and disappeared. Eliot didn't have time to even curse; he went straight after her, knowing what she was going to do, but he made only a few steps before he lost her. He went back, and slumped by the wall where the others were huddled to protect Manny from the nastiest blows of the storm.

He put his forehead on his knees - that protected his eyes and he could breathe without swallowing the sand - and tried not to drift away. At least, not too far away. Exhaustion and concussion were a terrible combination.

Hardison's foot poking his knee was probably the hacker's idea of checking if he was still awake, but it sent a thump into his skull, which bounced and vibrated in there, like a fucking fly caught in a jar. There were words and questions following that move, but no chance he could understand anything in this wind. Hardison was lucky he held Manny, or else that foot would be spun around its axis and twisted into… he sighed, clearing the mental image of Hardison's pirouette, and just raised his hand to show him he was fine.

A door slamming stirred him, showing him he wasn't, exactly, _fine_, because there was an SUV in front of him, and he hadn't heard it coming. Two hands were helping him up already, and he let that happen not only without killing somebody, but also without noticing their moves at all. He needed to rest, desperately, or this downward spiral would continue.

He knew Parker was going after the thugs' car that had been why he wanted to go with her. They might have surprised her, leaving the warehouse. But she managed to do what was expected of her.

Mickey and their things were already inside, he saw as he had entered/fell/been carried/whoknowswhat/ whocareswhat into the SUV – almost the same as the last one they drove. Only the leather wasn't vanilla, this one was white.

He ended up lying on the back seat without knowing exactly how. Again, with Sophie, though this time that wasn't something to be annoyed about. With his rapid downhill spiral, he would need a reminder that she was there, nearby and safe. That they escaped this touch of the very real and very nasty world which lurked around them in shadows. _For now_.

Parker drove normally – well, by her standards of normal – so he didn't have to brace himself from bouncing around. Sophie was very careful not to make any move that would look like hugging him, so he just closed his eyes and tried to think about nothing. With an accent on _tried_. A concussion did something very strange to his thinking process, and he had to override the muddy dead-ends of his mind to keep himself present. Dark swamps tended to suck in everything that touched them, and he had trouble controlling his minds desire to drift away. There weren't any warning 'stay away' signs that could guide him through his own brain now. He was too tired and shaken for that.

But her warmth – _within his reach, unspoiled and safe_ – was enough to keep him calm, to keep his present fears at bay.

Even the shrieks of joy from two re-united twins, which grew into rapid babbling, couldn't disturb him now. Hardison's head, emerging between two seats, did however. Nate took shotgun this time, and the hacker had to sit with twins in the middle row of seats.

"As soon as we find a quiet place to stay – and that would be what, our third try? – I'll corner you and you can tell me all you can remember about de Bruin. No, not just you Sophie, both of you. Everything you know of him Eliot, and all that you talked to him about, Sophie – I'll combine all that in one file and we'll see what we are dealing with."

Eliot knew his answer wasn't expected, so he said nothing. But Sophie was silent, too, so he looked up. He couldn't quite see her – his head was resting against her hip and arm – but at least it drew some reaction from her. Her fingers brushed his hair.

_She still had all her fingers_, came an unwanted thought, and the shiver chilled his bones. Damn swamps. Damn concussion stopping him from controlling his thinking.

"We will do that, Hardison," she said finally. "Though I do not know about that 'finding a quiet place to stay' part. You are aware that you brought us the two most glaringly un-hidable children in the entire city of Phoenix? With an amber alert, and all police forces after us and them, we cannot be seen anywhere."

"Nate's working on that. I'm working on all the new info we have. In an hour or two – if we find a place to stay – I'll have enough to connect everything, and we'll finally have a mark, and a case. This episode, as unfortunate as it was, gave us a few more useful things – the warehouse address with its paper trails, for example. Besides…" he pointed through the windows on his left side. "See that barely visible orange glow, far, far away? They are connecting blocks to electricity again. I can't predict how fast it will go, the power will probably go on and off still, because the storm isn't stopping, but at least we can hope for some more normal working conditions. Even with a reserve battery charger, my laptop won't last more than few hours more."

"Not only your laptop," Nate said from the front seat. "All of us won't last for much longer. We need a place to _sleep_. The night is far too old."

_Good luck with that_. Sophie was right. Even if they separated, each group taking one girl, those damn curls would make everybody reach for the phone.

"And we just arrived." Nate said just five seconds after his last words. _What? Where_?

Eliot pushed himself up – suppressing a hiss of pain when everything sent bolts of pain through, well, everything – and looked into the black whirls surrounding the SUV.

The nightmarish castle rose above them. Again.

"You brought us back to the twins' house?" Hardison said, so Eliot didn't have to. "Are you nuts? With that, that… inside?"

True. Sleeping with a tortured body in the living room wasn't even his idea of peaceful rest. How long did it take to clear all the whiskey from Nate's system?

"What's inside?" Sophie asked and Eliot gritted his teeth.

"Demolished living room," Nate said in _that_ voice – a message for him and Hardison to shut the fuck up. "They searched for something in there. We'll go directly upstairs. Nobody will expect us there again. All other explanations when we get in, okay? Parker, make a circle, get us to the back side."

Eliot sent a glare to the front seat; Hardison hitched away so as not to be caught in it. But Nate didn't even blink.

"Morning will be here very soon," Nate said in response. "And that means we are starting to fight back. I've had enough of being chased and pushed around. Now it's our turn."

"Our turn for what?" he growled. The girls giggled at that sound, utterly diminishing the ominous effect.

Nate looked up, to the dark castle. "You and Parker will go hunting." Then he looked back at him and a smirk flew across his face. "You'll bring me the head of Prince Charming."

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	8. Chapter 8

TRTJ – Chapter 8

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Three bedrooms, bathroom and two storage rooms felt like a real castle compared to the motel's cheaply fabricated bungalow.

Eliot told them all to wait in the lobby until he checked once more the entire upper part of the house. It took much longer than he hoped for; he walked like a ninety year old with a walker, and he had to pause for one quick, but nasty vomiting session in the bathroom. Nate would keep them herded in one place, far away from the closed-off living room where the body lay. He managed to pull down the ladders that led to the attic, but climbing them was beyond his reach for now. Parker would be thrilled to examine it.

Hardison was the first one to hurry upstairs when he called them in, eager to find a nest for his tech thingies, and he went from room to room.

"Too small," the hacker went from one guest room, into the next one. "Ugh, too pink," he left the second, twins' room clearly, and his torchlight danced all around the third. "And this one is just right. Perfect for work and briefing." He went out in the small corridor and leant over the white wooden railing. "Nate, bring some chairs from… somewhere. Kitchen?"

Eliot leant beside him, watching Nate who was last to climb, carrying all the bags Parker stole from the motel. Sophie and Parker carried two sleepy girls. Judging by Nate's mad glare, Hardison had better dig himself into his work.

"And be quiet," Hardison said right in the moment when Nate opened his mouth. "They're almost asleep." After that, he quickly retreated into the main bedroom.

"Parker, close all the shutters in the house," Nate said. "We can't risk any light flickering out."

Eliot followed them all. The room swirled around him, with so many people going to and fro. He leaned on the doorframe, waiting for the mess to clear out a little.

Parker finished shutting all the blinds and pulled candles from her motel bag. Sophie was chasing the girls to the en-suite bathroom. The other door led to the girls' room. Hardison and Nate were occupied with a working table. Natalie Johnstone was divorced, he recalled; though she had a king-size bed, the other half of the room was her working space. The hacker was already rummaging through her shelves, while Nate unpacked all tech gadgets which Parker stole.

He wasn't needed here, with nothing for him to do. Not a good thing. He should go to the guest room and get some sleep, or at least rest, but he didn't dare do it. It wasn't only because of his inability to prevent himself from delving too deep into his own brain - he felt that only staying here, with all of them within his reach and in sight, could keep him relatively peaceful. On the other hand, that meant _all of them within his reach and in sight_. He would be half crazy before the first hour ended. _Whatever_. He was already too disturbed to simply rest, and he restrained his need to pace all over the house with immense effort. He would just stagger and drive himself to the point of complete shutdown – a thing he couldn't permit himself right now. Nor tomorrow. _In fact, not ever_.

Even standing was tiresome, and he reminded himself to drink more water for the blood loss. Or he could send Parker to snatch some IV bags from the nearest hospital. Or even go there himself; after he walked around the house some more, just to be sure that secondary security perimeter was also clear. Or he could just-

"You, there," Sophie said hurrying after one gnome who'd escaped the bathroom, and pointed at the rest of Parker's stuff. "Don't just stand there, do something useful. There's food in there, find something we can eat. The girls are hungry."

Well, that solved his dilemma. But after he inspected Parker's loot, his headache grew a few new spikes. This wasn't _food_. This was greasy colored sugar and/or salt packed into shiny plastic with roughly the same nutritional value. Chips, candies, chocolate bars, sandwiches with suspiciously bright colors, vacuum packed and probably able to survive a nuclear attack, judging by the amount of preservatives on the labels. This night was heading from shitty to disastrous faster than he could follow.

"Hardison, how long since the storm started?"

Only after the hacker threw him a glance from beneath the furrowed eyebrows, he remembered he could count the time himself. It wasn't so hard to calculate from morning to some time after midnight. "Never mind, forget it." A house with two small kids should have had a full fridge, nothing that could spoil or rot too fast. He put all the hideous things back in the bag, shoved the bag under the bed, and left the room.

Parker was just climbing down the ladders when he entered the hall.

"The attic is clear?" he asked. "Any windows?"

"Closed and secured. Where are you going?"

"Kitchen. Don't go downstairs."

"Why?"

Telling Parker she couldn't go somewhere was just like telling her that Louvre completely changed all their security protocols and no living soul could enter it, ever again.

"There's a dead body in the living room. De Bruin's work. Tortured. Not a sight for you or Sophie to see. Keep your mouth shut, don't tell her. She is already…" He almost said _upset_, but stopped and trailed off into silence. No, Sophie wasn't upset, she handled all of this much better than he would have expected. _He_ was the one who was unstrung with all tonight's events.

Parker raised her torchlight and pointed it directly into his eyes; he almost staggered backwards when the needles pierced his brain. "What the hell, Parker!"

She lowered the light and took one step closer. "You're still in Washington, in front of Vance's computer truck," she said. "Your eyes are the same."

"Look, Parker, I don't have either the time or nerves for riddles right now, I have to go to kitchen and-" She poked his shoulder – thank god for small victories, she poked the left one – but this wasn't crazy-Parker in front of him. He watched Parker who had told him that they had chosen to change together, when he had tried to send them away from the flu. He couldn't see her face to check, blinded by the light, but it was that same voice. Serious and fierce.

She took another step closer, a lithe shadow, and her voice fell. "You just continued at the same speed, the same force… the same tension. I know, we thought something was happening in Portland, and you had to keep yourself alert and in high functioning mode during the flight. I know all of that. But that was two days ago, and you aren't _stopping_."

She didn't climb down right then by chance. She had waited for him, knowing he wouldn't be able to stay still. He slowly exhaled, calming himself down.

"None of us are stopping, Parker. Not really the time for that."

"We don't have two bullet holes in us. We aren't pushing ourselves _over_ the edge of our strength." Her eyes, now that he was able to see, searched his face with disturbing concentration. "Do you want to know what thing will kill me one day, Eliot?"

And there went his slow, calm exhale. His breath got caught in the middle, and he couldn't continue with letting it out, pain almost physically blocking it.

"One day, my rope will snap," she said, her voice almost gentle. "It won't snap while jumping off of a building – no, ropes are made to endure sudden pressure, they can take it. That's what they do. It's stretching that weakens them, when they are burdened. Time, weight and constant pressure tear them apart. Threads inside the rope unravel, one by one, and you don't notice it until it's too late; until too many of them are already torn. In the end, there's only one, just _one_ microscopic thin thread that will decide your life or death." She stopped, watching him still. "You're close to that. You can't get out of it, you can't stop that stretching; you can't get rid of the burden and that constant pressure. You're overwrought. Stop, Eliot. Just stop."

"Parker, I ain't-"

"No, shut up." Her poking finger rested on his shoulder, in a _touch_. "Ropes hold and secure people. People can do anything when they know their rope holds them, when they aren't scared while hanging over the abyss. When the rope snaps, people fall and die."

She turned off her torchlight and darkness fell in the corridor. She pushed it into his hand and opened the bedroom door. "Find some milk for the girls," she said, and closed the door after her.

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He climbed down the stairs with careful steps, concentrating only on that. He passed the lobby and entered the kitchen. Freezer was still holding its temperature. He found both meat and vegetables. The fridge was also full of food. Enough milk to last for seven days.

And then he lost it, without any warning, any trigger. The rage inside him boiled in a second, and he slammed his hand into the wall.

He knew what it was; pure anguish that boiled and boiled, all that self-hatred accumulating into an explosion. He'd had to control his hand so as not to cut de Bruin's throat there in front of everybody, instead of his face.

He pressed his forehead against the cold fridge door, and closed his eyes.

But de Bruin wasn't to blame for his own decisions, and killing him would have solved nothing. It would never erase the fact that he was ready to do everything, and anything to get that information from his thug. He hated himself because of that – but he hated himself a lot more because he was _able_ to do it, without a second thought. The stakes were too high – and he was the man for that job. He was that man still. And that creature would continue to lurk deep, deep down inside him; he would never be able to get rid of him. No matter what he tried, or did.

And he couldn't say that he didn't know it; he'd always known it.

And constant fear, which seeped into his hatred, it was only growing stronger. Their lives were in his hands. If anything happened to them, it would be because he was too slow, too tired, too hurt.

And there were days when that thought became unbearable.

They were so close today. Dread still held him in its grasp, not letting him breathe, keeping him alert and awake.

Parker wasn't right, though. Parker didn't understand that he couldn't simply snap. Yes, he could get killed, but until then, there wasn't a way for him to stop. Or be stopped. Tension, pressure, weight – he mastered them, he fucking owned them – that was his job here. Not to stop, simple as that. Continue until get killed. Keep them safe. Get the milk. Return upstairs as if nothing happened. Keep the mask on. Yeah, he could do that.

But he was so damn tired.

He could return upstairs and hide from everybody, that the thing that drove Eliot Spencer was a simple, paralyzing fear.

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After only five minutes in the bathroom Sophie was soaking wet, but the dust and dirt was rubbed finally away, leaving two pink giggly munchkins, each wrapped in huge towels, and placed on their mommy's bed while she waited for their curls to dry.

She lit a few more candles, and the room was bathed in a warm orange light.

"They will be in their beds in ten minutes," she said to Nate and Hardison who were still knee deep in papers, books and laptops. "I suggest we wait with business talk until after then."

"Perfect," Nate said. "But you're the one who will tell Eliot you fed them with the chocolate bars that he hid away."

"It was the only way to keep them in the bathtub. He went to check the rest of the house more than fifteen-"

"Twenty minutes total," a raspy voice behind her answered. "I had to wait for water to boil. A gas oven," he explained her unspoken question.

"And gas hot water, too," she waved towards the bathroom. "We're lucky to have found both in this house; it isn't every house in Phoenix that has gas." Only then she noticed that his face darkened when he looked at the kids. "What?"

"We ain't on fucking picnic, Sophie! They ain't dressed!"

"Of course they are not. I'm getting them ready for bed." She pointed at two pairs of pajamas lying on the bed.

He turned on his heel and marched into the kids' room. She exchanged a glance with Nate while they listened while he rummaged through the closets; Hardison was already sniffing a tray Eliot had brought up with him. Before she could say anything to Nate, Eliot returned with two sets of small clothes.

"No pajamas," he gave her the clothes. "They'll sleep in these. Find more clothes they can change into, and pack one bag. Comfortable shoes, and jackets, too. They must be able to leave the house in twenty seconds, if necessary, sleeping or not."

"You're right, I did not think-"

"Yeah, never mind, just do it. You gave them chocolate?"

"They were hungry. What did you prep-"

"They are four years old! They have to eat vegetables and meat, not that-"

"Will you stop interrupting my every sentence!" she lowered her voice but she held the edge in it. "It's past midnight, Eliot. They munched some chocolate bars, and they are ready to sleep, they can't eat a proper meal now. They are exhausted. What did you make?"

She watched his visible effort to calm his annoyance. "A quick soup, an artificial one," a pained expression flew over his face for a second. "But I put vegetables in it. Along with a salad of leftovers, and hard boiled eggs for breakfast tomorrow. I don't know how much time we will have for preparing any food in the morning, so it's better to have something ready." He paused and glanced at the tray. Annoyance cleared from his face, taking all traces of color with it. "Excuse me," he whispered, passing by her. He disappeared in the bathroom, and Sophie sighed.

"Come along, little darlings, let's get dressed and jump into your beds," she shooed the girls into their room. Judging by their snail-like speed, there wouldn't be any whining about going to bed. She tucked them in and in a minute she went back to the others, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Eliot was still in the bathroom.

"Nate, we all need a few hours of sleep," she said. _And some of us need a CT scan_.

"If you think you can make him lie down, be my guest," he replied to her unspoken thoughts, as always. "He'll decide, Sophie. He is fine, and he is within his working speed. Let him be."

"Within his _working speed_?!"

"Exactly."

"Sophie, Nate is right this time," Hardison said. "This day was tiresome and all, but even the fights weren't anything special – not for him, at least. A concussion is a nasty thing, I know, but he knows how to deal with it much better than any of us. It's not a big deal, trust me."

She stared at them, not quite believing their words. "You two are idiots," she finally said. "He got shot, twice. After that, instead of a hospital, he spent a night flying cross country. This morning, immediately upon landing, he fought security at the airport. Ran through the parking lot. Then drove – with Parker behind the wheel. Tumbled down a hill, climbed up the same hill in that storm, fought four guys, got hit with a bloody van door, got a concussion and hurt his wounds more. He was unconscious for more than a half an hour! Then he walked around in the motel, drove more, ran to the house across the street, fought three thugs, and then fought three more in the warehouse. And he's been moving around since we came back here. And it's not _a big deal_?"

"An entirely usual day for a hitter, darling," Nate said with that maddening smirk. "And now, tell me… he brought warm milk for the girls? Because now would be a time for-"

"I'm thirsty," a tiny voice came from the next room.

"I'll take it," one hand reach past her to the tray. Parker took the cups, and Sophie quickly glanced at her. She had been too silent since they came back here. Hardison must've noticed it too, because he followed her with his gaze, but said nothing. He just glanced at Nate, quickly, as if in response to some unspoken remark. Her levels of frustration rose to an entirely new level – sometimes this team would drive her crazy.

"Why are ya'll silent and staring at each other significantly?" Eliot said from behind her back, and she huffed. _The right person for the right question, indeed_.

"We decided," she started, "that you should lie down, now. Your day was awful, and you need to recover."

"Why? It wasn't a big deal."

She turned around in one furious move. "Are you mocking me, Eliot Spencer?"

"What?" he asked, the earnest confusion clear on his face. No, he didn't hear their words, he just came up with the same ones… and that was even worse. Three idiots. She was surrounded by three bloody idiots. In one word – men.

His face was ashen, and his eyes unfocused. She was sure he saw at least double. A plastic cup in his hand, full of water, showed her he knew how much fluids he was losing with his incessant vomiting. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't helping. He must've seen her frustration boiling very close to the surface, because he raised his hands in the air, as if in surrender, and sat on the bed.

"There. Resting," he said. "Can we start with the briefing now? The sooner we're done with it, the sooner I'll lie down."

"Good idea," Nate took a chair by the work space. Sophie could sit by Eliot on the bed, but she took a small stool from in front of the vanity unit, nodding her head to the waste space behind his back, all his. He must've been in a really bad shape, because he chose not to argue with her – or it was traces of that gentleness she still felt in him every time he looked at her – and he moved, piled the pillows up and half sat, half lay on the bed.

"Parker, you coming?" Hardison called.

Silence. After five seconds, the thief sneaked in the door, leaving the darkness behind her… but she only took a step into the room before one girl sprang past her chuckling. Parker caught her by her shirt and stopped her, and outstretched one leg sideways, blocking the other one who had just showed on the door.

"I'll keep them in their room, sit with them until they calm down," Parker said. "I can hear you so you can start." She pulled her catch with her and went back into the pink room. They saw only one candle and Parker putting them both in the same bed.

"They're way past their bed time," Nate said, not quite looking at them; he studied the paper in his hand. "That means they could continue for hours with this, they are too exhausted to sleep."

"Not to mention that they were fed with _chocolate bars_," Eliot said. "After midnight."

"They are not Gremlins, Eliot," Sophie said. He huffed in response.

He had his arms crossed and his glare was fixed in place, and Sophie just raised her eyebrows at him. The glare downgraded to a scowl, the one she had been immune to for years.

"You look like you need a nice, warm cup of tea," she said with a cooing sound; there wasn't any better reaction to his annoyance, other than to annoy him even more, until he surrendered and laughed in exasperation. Yet, she felt that no laugh would come this time. He was stiff and tensed, and his eyes were hard.

Hardison cleared his throat and tapped his laptop to draw their attention to him, and there was no time for her to further feel Eliot's emotional temperature. She turned to the hacker.

"As we already discovered, owner of the game The Green Sheep Kingdom is Signia Inc. The owner of the company and our potential mark is Herbert Kien - Quaney III." Hardison stopped talking and stared for a moment into nothing, his shoulders slumped.

Nobody said a word, they waited.

"This ain't right, it's awful," Hardison said. "You're all... scattered around me, you ain't sitting in one line. And I don't have my screens – no remote to click and show you all the information I collected. Maybe if I try to find a projector, and use the wall behind Eliot to-"

"Electricity," Nate said shortly.

"Ah, yes," Hardison fidgeted with a pen in his hands, then took his laptop and stood up.

Sophie just blinked when he pushed the laptop in front of her face, showing her a picture of a young, cheerful man with glasses. He repeated that with Eliot and Nate, and turned to the girls' room in obvious attempt to take the laptop to Parker, when Nate's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Sit, for god's sake, and simply tell us what you have."

"I prefer 'show, don't tell' approach when it comes to briefings, thankyouverymuch!"

"Hardison." Nate repeated, more quietly this time.

Hardison sighed. "So, Herbert Kien- Quaney III, in spite of his obviously bad guy name – he sounds like the next candidate for Bond villain, if I ever saw one – doesn't show any sign of any suspicious or criminal activity. Nor does his company, Signia Inc. It is fast growing, but relatively new in business waters. The average employee age is twenty- four, they are all highly educated professionals in their line of expertize."

"You mean a bunch of geeks playing and making games?" Eliot asked. "_That_ line of expertize?"

"My hostility alert just went off. Do you know how complicated it is to develop any game, how highly skilled you-"

"I won't trust a generation of grownups who think you can go through life using cheat codes!"

Hardison choked. "On a scale of one below zero to a hot spring day, your knowledge of games would be about Siberian New Year's Eve!"

"You _do_ know Siberia is in Russia, right? Are you trying to imply something about-"

Nate slapped Hardison's laptop shut, and Hardison jumped up. That move was so outrageous that he blinked in bewilderment, staring at Nate. Even Eliot twitched.

"The average employee age is twenty-four…?" Nate said with a tone which he might alternatively use to encourage the girls to come closer; softness pouring off him in warm waves. Sophie bit her lip so as not to laugh. Both Hardison and Eliot shut their mouths with the same bow of their heads.

In the brief silence they could all hear quiet whispers from the twins' room.

"Yes… and Signia Inc. is like new Google, if we look only at its working conditions," Hardison decided to continue. "Flexible work times, promotions, benefits, rec rooms, meditation rooms, SPA in the main building, – Eliot, that hmpf only shows that you have no idea what proper relaxation can do to productivity, especially in solving creative problems, so shut up – kindergarten, insanely long maternity leave, team building breaks, team holidays, perfect health insurance and payment that goes to six figures after only two years of work."

"What's the catch?" Nate said.

"There is none, at least none that I can find. But let's not forget that I collected this mainly during Parker's driving – not the best conditions. I'll continue; this is just a first layer of information, the ground work. So, Herbert Kien-Quaney III works with his people, hangs out with them, and treats them all as friends. That's the kind of company I would consider working for, if I ever thought about decent work," Hardison shot a glare at Nate.

"Why do I have a feeling," Sophie asked before Nate's smirk produced something poisonous, "that all you just said you read in a brochure on their web site? That sounds like a commercial."

"Nope, give me some credit. Independent articles, financial reports, Who's who in the computer world – I didn't copy and paste, I took the picture from many sources. The best source would be a disgruntled employee, but there are none. I even checked a few Facebook profiles to see if anyone complains – but they are full of happy people drinking together after work."

"How many employees in total?" Nate said.

"Two hundred in the main building here in Phoenix, but… now it gets complicated. They are fast growing, as I said. Herbert is opening foreign branches of his company. Nothing too big, just a few studios that will work independently on specific products, and mainly in South America. It's a new and unexplored market, and it's a good move. Asia is full and covered, Europe is as well. Only Africa would be better. He is not moving his company, so no grudges there – he is just creating more jobs. For now, he has opened small studios in Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, French Guyana and Suriname. He – okay, what was that _hmpf_ for?"

"I smell drugs and cartels," Eliot said. "That sounds just like a good cover up for illegal trafficking."

"That's because you have prejudices. Colombia isn't only-"

"I don't have prejudices about South America – I've been there. And no sane businessman would go willingly into countries with such high corruption rates, and bureaucracy obstacles that slow you down. Though, we're talking about a geek, so forget I said 'sane businessman.'"

"In spite of your ignorance and prejudices, you might have a point. Sort of. Though, there's no active investigation on him. I'll double check DEA files, just in case, but, he is clean."

"Give me a list of his closest men, and…" Nate paused, thinking. "How do you address the head of unit, or section, in geeky firm?"

"A head of unit and section," Hardison said, very close to growling himself. "Head of the Art department, Natalie's direct boss, is going through all my checks as we speak. Name is Stu E. Campbell."

"Okay, find me a list of former employees, too; we'll contact them first thing in the morning, along with a few chosen from Natalie's coworkers. That Signia Inc. sounds too perfect; there must be something we can dig up. That's it?"

"I have to wait for electricity to come back, and then I'll plug in her computer – that should give us a perfect back door to the entire Signia, because she probably worked from home, and logged into her account from here. I'll have all her passwords, and I'll be able to walk through the Signia mainframe, searching all files. I also found a few hard drives in her table, and I'll check everything."

"Her emails and correspondence with her coworkers too? Make a list of her contacts."

"Of course. For now, that's it on her side of the investigation. I found-" Hardison stopped and turned his head towards the pink room. "Parker, are you listening at all?"

No reply came, and a low whisper continued as if he hadn't said anything.

"She can see later all that you collected," Sophie said. "It's better for us if she keeps the girls occupied. She is probably reading them a bedtime stor-" The word stopped on her lips at the same moment when Hardison's eyes opened wide. _Dear god_.

"Shit," a mumbled curse came from the bed – Eliot and Nate were both on their feet in a second.

All four of them – very, _very_ quietly – slid across the room to the half opened door.

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Eliot seriously considered bursting in and stopping her in whatever taser-explosive-psycho-mass-murder bedtime story she had started, but Nate's hand gripped his arm and stopped him at the door.

They all lined up against the wall by the half-opened door.

Whispering gave a soft tone to Parker's voice; she even talked slower, trying to put the girls to sleep.

"…but Rapunzel was wise more than she was beautiful; she knew there were two kinds of mechanical strengths: compressional strength and tensile strength. Tensile strength is how strong the material is when being stretched, and human hair is stronger than nylon, though not stronger than structural steel, which is many people's belief. But, when in danger, a girl has to use what she has, and being locked in a tower, she only had her hair. Though, a spider's web would be great, the strength of it is 1200 MPa – hair is only 200 MPa."

"Spiders are scary," a tiny voice whispered back. "They have so many legs."

"Never be afraid of something beautiful. They need many legs to spin their webs. Two hands can only pull two lines. Eight of them can pull eight, and they go like this…" a stereo giggle followed her words. A pink colored darkness tilted a little, when her waving hands disturbed the candle flame. "Look at them the next time you see them, and don't be afraid. Now you know why they need so many legs; they dance on, and with their webs."

Eliot glanced at Hardison; the hacker's face had that stupid, soft smile. No annoyance could live near that softness, and even his raw nerves began to ease.

But Parker continued, "Smart and beautiful girls don't sit in their tower helpless, waiting for a prince to save them. Princes are often scared of heights – they're all for horses, and swords, and shiny armor, useless when things get practical. Rapunzel didn't grow her hair so the prince could climb up – no, she knew she was on her own, and she made a plan. She cut her hair and weaved it into one long, long rope. Not a simple braid, but a more complicated pattern that increased its tensile strength – and when the witch went away, she tied the rope to her bedstead, let it fall, and climbed down. She was free."

"And the Prince?"

"He came later and saw the tower was empty – but Rapunzel waited for him, and told him how to defeat the evil witch. They rode together to her castle and defeated a dragon guarding her door. And then-"

"And then?" double whisper ran into her pause. Eliot shifted, ready to move.

"…and then Rapunzel saw the four rats that were eaves dropping at the giant door of the hall that held the throne of the witch."

"Eeuw!"

"But they were good rats – they helped her enter the hall with her Prince, and defeat the witch. They told her she didn't have the right to keep Rapunzel trapped in the tower, and the witch cried, because they were right. She was very, very sorry, and she said she would like to be their friend. See? No violence needed."

"And the dragon?"

"He became head of the security department in the Prince's Kingdom."

"And then?"

Sophie tapped his hand. Nate was already turning away, and Eliot followed. But Hardison stayed at the door, the briefing and laptop forgotten, as he listened to the gentle voice with a strange glimmer in his eyes.

The three of them sneaked away. Eliot returned to the bed and sat, staring blindly into nothing.

The silence, with that whisper still in the background, felt calm now; everybody seemed to slow down, even Nate sat slumped. Sophie still smiled.

Maybe that smile was what tricked him, and her words caught him unprepared. "Have you met de Bruin before? Your hate had a personal edge to it." Her annoying ability to deliver blows under that constant smile had always surprised him, he never got used to that.

"No, and no. Only personal thing here is that he… stood in our way, taking you. And he is not one that I would choose to get involved in this." He exchanged a quick glance with Nate, waiting for a cue, but Nate gave no warning sign. Yeah, it was better for her to know.

"I took care of one of his victims," he continued slowly. "Black Ops, South America, infiltration in a jungle hideout. We got ambushed, many of us killed, the rest captured. De Bruin was called in to draw information about other similar actions that we had prepared. I managed to get away before it was my turn." That was enough. They didn't need to know the details, his friends dying from blood poisoning in a muddy, wet cell, the screams and cries that still echoed through the nights – but just remembering all that clutched at his chest and made his dizziness worse. He had to control his breathing to stop more nausea.

"Anything specific that we should know?" Nate leant forward a little in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes read him with a disturbing precision.

"He does that because he likes it, and that's his weakness. He doesn't change his approach, doesn't adjust the torture to a victim."

"What do you mean?" Sophie's voice was no louder than Parker's whisper now, and he sighed.

"He doesn't study his victim, doesn't search for his worst fear, and then press on it for a quick break." This time, he didn't glance at Nate; he kept his eyes on her. "For example, if you have a well-trained, physically active man who makes a living with his strength, threatening him with pain wouldn't work – at least not immediately. But tell him he would be crippled for the rest of his life, unable to move, and he's all yours. It's like grifting; finding a pressure point and poking at it. If you do it right, no need to actually do anything."

A shadow on his left moved; Nate slowly leaned back in his seat.

He smiled at Sophie. She needed a smile now. "De Bruin's method is efficient; he doesn't need to think too much."

"He had told me that he only ever used five of his closest men," she said. "He called them his Maintenance Service."

Yeah, he had seen them; faces changed, but their function remained the same.

"Where's his base?" Nate asked.

"Nobody knows. He operates in the US, Europe, and South America."

"But we know, now," Nate said. A smile in his voice drew Hardison back. The hacker sat at the work table, and all of them watched Nate. "Think about time-frame here," he continued. "We snatched the girls this morning. Our mark, whoever it is, sent chasers after us. He needs those girls desperately. And he sent for de Bruin when he saw his chase had failed. His five men joined the chase, and de Bruin ambushed the one place that could give him someone who would know something. He was here, in Phoenix, when this started, he didn't have time to fly here from somewhere else. It could be a coincidence. But I don't think so. He _is_ here."

"He had told me that the room where I was held was sterilized. That means it's been used before for, for…" Sophie stopped and cleared her throat. "Yes, you might be right. If he does not exactly live here, he certainly has that one place to work in."

"Had," Eliot said. "He had one place, but no more. It's compromised, he'd have cleared out."

"That still can give us useful information," Hardison said. "We can find our mark the other way around, using de Bruin. He can lead us to him."

"No," Eliot said. "Too dangerous. He is in a different league, different world, it's not for us to deal with him."

The relief in Sophie's eyes was almost palpable. But Nate frowned, thinking.

"We'll see," Nate finally said. "If there's a way to bring him down with our mark, I'll do it. But this time, you're right. It's better to avoid him, and let somebody else finish him. I don't want him too close."

Well, _this_ was surprising. He was half ready to fight over this, but it seemed that Nate kept the dead body under their feet in his mind. They were very lucky with Sophie – the next time their luck might run out.

He reached into his pocket, and when he pulled his hand out, he let Nate – and only Nate – see the light from the candles flickering across the gold surface. Nate met his eyes, and nodded; an invisible move of his chin.

Sophie and Hardison didn't notice anything. "So, we are playing 'do not trouble trouble until trouble troubles you'?" Hardison said in a voice that was light and glaringly false.

"Couldn't agree more," Sophie breathed. Her hands, invariably calm and controlled, twitched; she rubbed her right palm on her trousers. "I couldn't read him, he is evasive. He radiates nothing, he just… observes."

Her whisper brought a damn vivid picture of her in his lair – _within his reach_ - and Eliot gritted his teeth. Nate stood up, even Hardison flinched.

"Enough for now," Nate said. "Hardison, you called the police and reported a break-in across the street?"

"Yes – but with this storm, they probably have a thousand similar reports. I can't tell you if it's been done or not."

"Okay." Nate stood as if he didn't know what to do next. He finally turned to him. "Go to the guest room and catch some sleep," he said. "We'll be awake, and will set a watch."

That actually sounded good. Silence and darkness. "Wake me up in an hour."

"No need to-"

"A concussion check. Call me from the door. And if you notice anything – _anything_, Nate, not only something suspicious – wake me up before you even think about it."

"Okay. Have you got your phone with you?"

"Yep. Good idea. Call me, then you don't have to come in."

He slowly got up, and held the wall for a moment to stabilize himself. His balance was screwed; it seemed that every move he made swayed him to the left a little.

The guest room had two beds, but the windows were looking out onto the street. He'd not brought a candle. He raised the shutters and pushed the chair closer to the window.

Lying on the bed would only hurt his shoulder; he couldn't rest his back on anything, any pressure on the wound was too painful. The hole on the front didn't help either. Even his leg wound was on the wrong side – there was no position he could lie comfortable in, not even sideways.

Sitting in the chair, with pillows under his good shoulder, would give him more rest than laying down could. He might even sleep that way.

But for now, his eyes fixed on the street and the darkness that surrounded the house.

After five minutes, he pulled the gold butterfly knife from his pocket, and put it on the window sill, in front of his eyes.

The gold was dull and lifeless in darkness.

And cold, so cold.

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	9. Chapter 9

TRTJ - Chapter 9

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"Wake up."

Eliot caught the hand that was hovering over his shoulder - _grasp, firm hold then twist_ – but he hit the brakes on his adrenaline rush in the blink of an eye, and stopped every move. _Hardison's voice_. He could, however, do nothing with the disorientation that rushed over him – that thing had no brakes to hit. He blinked into the darkness. Darkness blinked back.

_Phoenix. Dust storm. Twin's house. De Bruin_. He recited the sequence that anchored him into the present, just like he did the last time the hacker woke him up. Though that time he hadn't tried to hit Hardison; he just woke up, answered his question about his name, the year and who the President was – yeah, Hardison, too many movies – and after checking if everything was all right, he went back to sleep.

This time, Hardison didn't ask anything, and his voice was strained. That had set him in full alert mode.

"What's going on?" Eliot asked the dark shadow.

"Nothing, relax. All is fine. Nate and Sophie are sleeping – he stayed awake with me, but I managed to get rid of him eventually – he needs to clear his head. Parker is on watch, she is, erm…gargoyling."

Yes, his confused brain definitely needed words that weren't even in a dictionary. He took one long breath and rubbed his forehead; Hardison read his silence as the deep breath before the yelling commenced.

"She's sitting on the roof," the hacker continued. "She is wrapped in a blanket, with a large hood on her head, and her eyes are masked with sunglasses, and she is monitoring the entire perimeter. And before you ask, she is just a dark smudge in the darkness, no one can see her. She, also, enjoys that storm immensely."

Hardison didn't come here to tell him that Parker was playing Parker. His internal watch was as screwed up as everything else was, but he had a feeling that this wasn't only an hour after the last time they woke him up. He glanced at the window, searching for the change in light that would announce a dawn, but the night was still immersed in deep black. "Spit it out, Hardison," he said. "I'm awake so you don't have to beat around the bush."

"Are you in a mood for a little walk?"

"Where and why?"

"I would go myself, but you'd find out I went alone, and your twelve-hour long death glare would spoil everybody's day – so as much as I don't like waking you up, it's in a common interest. And a sacrifice from _my_ part."

Jesus, one day he would simply snap. There was only one thing worse than Hardison's river of words, and it was a _slow_ river of words. "Where and why?" he repeated his question.

"To the house across the street, to check if police took away the three thugs."

"That's 'where'. Why?"

"Because we missed one important thing – the thugs had communication sets. If the police haven't reacted yet and taken them into custody, which is entirely possible in these conditions, we can have their earbuds, and I can try to track them. It could reveal much information for us, and perhaps even lead us to the source of signal."

Eliot moved his left pinky, to test how it would go. _Fine_. Moving anything else was going to be a bitch, and he didn't need a hovering hacker to witness the first few minutes of it. Maybe this sleeping lark wasn't such a great idea after all – the pain seemed to crystalize in his limbs, and moving from the chair would only make it crumble and revert to liquid form again, spreading all over.

His brain was crystalized as well; just then he realized that Hardison posed his story slowly, giving him time to get himself together, and to see how his concussion was doing. Hardison could be so damn discerning sometimes.

Losing the reason for annoyance annoyed him even more. "Okay, go now, find us something to cover our faces; I'll follow you in a minute."

"Take your time." Hardison cleared out after that.

His leg was stiff when he got up from the chair. He took the golden knife from the window sill and put it in his left jacket pocket, slung upon the armrest. Putting the jacket on showed him that a new bruise across his back had also had enough time to wake up. Shoulder wounds never slept, the pain following him in his sleep, a deep throbbing that never seemed to ease.

And he was again staggering to the left. That meant he would need an extra calculation to keep himself upright and straight while walking and, well, doing anything, to compensate with the balance mess up which would further frazzle his already-fucked-up brain. Not the first time he'd dealt with that, though – he knew the vomiting would stop today, and he should be in much better shape by night fall.

He could, and would, do anything that needed to be done. He always could, and this job would be no different. But as he watched the dark house across the street – _two_ houses that danced before his eyes - he asked himself was he only stating the obvious, or just trying to convince himself.

They were more than six months in Portland, doing more jobs than in Boston in the same time frame. Nate was acting strange, putting them deep into various shit just for the sake of it, forcing them to do more and more each time, constantly scrutinizing their every move. Rain and humidity gnawed at every broken bone, every scar.

He was getting tired. Tired hitters made mistakes. He put extra effort into everything he did, to avoid that pitfall, to make sure he was on top of his game – and it caught him in a vicious, self-perpetuating circle of exhaustion, the circle he couldn't stop, or get out of it.

Parker was right with one thing. Since Washington and that flu case he hadn't turned off his highest possible alert level, and it would've taken its toll even if he had remained unharmed. He rode a high wave, all his strength locked onto and set into fifth gear. No pause between cases, no chance to calm down, rest and refuel; just one night on a plane, sleepless and full of worry. De Bruin was just a dessert that added dread, speeding him up even more. Yes, he was overwrought – but he was far from snapping.

Again, that was nothing new. Nothing he couldn't deal with. He waited until the two houses melted into one again, straightened himself up, compensating his sway to the left, and took one deep, calming breath before he moved off.

The inventory took literally one minute, but when he left the room, Hardison was already waiting in the corridor with makeshift masks.

They climbed down the stairs without any light, and left the house through the back door.

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One particularly nasty gust of wind, that shook the shutters louder than a gun shot, woke Sophie up. She slowly untangled herself from the small arms wound around her; the girls had woken up crying, calling for their mommy, so she decided that curling up with them would be the best way to keep them calm. She fell asleep not long after they did.

Now she groped in the darkness until she found the door to the main bedroom, but it was empty.

Only a laptop gave some light. She knew Nate was sleeping on the small sofa in the twins' room, but she expected Hardison to be glued to his screen. When she discovered that Eliot wasn't in the guest room either, she went to wake up Nate.

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Hardison's phone vibrated when they were on the last stair before entering the corridor, dusting the sand off their hair; the hacker glanced at the screen and pressed the button.

"We're here," he said entering the bedroom.

Eliot just blinked when Nate turned to them, with a phone in his hand; his face was set into a cold fury. Hardison also slowed his step beside him.

"What's up?" the hacker asked with a caution. "Why ain't you sleeping? Where's Sophie?"

"She went to make tea and coffee," the change in Nate's face was so swift that Eliot would think he misjudged it in the dim light, if Nate's voice wasn't so calm. "Next time, answer your damn phones. _After_ you've shared your plans with me."

Eliot checked his phone – three missed calls. Nate put the phone away and sat, and Eliot took his spot on the bed. He was closer to him now, and now he saw he was right; Nate's face was still too sharp. This day also lay heavy on his shoulders; in every other job, their solo action and whereabouts wouldn't provoke any reaction. They had only been gone for ten minutes, and Nate was _worried_.

"Where have you been?"

"To search three thugs and take their earbuds off them, with plans to track them," Hardison said lowering himself onto his chair with a tired sigh. "No luck. And one problem; they ain't there no more."

"Police?"

"No. If they had answered the call and discovered them beaten and tied up, it would be a crime scene. It would have a seal on the door, do-not-cross lines tape and all that jazz – but we found no trace of investigation. De Bruin beat them to it. Now he has all five of his men – again."

Nate lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Eliot watched him, silently. He knew what he was thinking now, and it wasn't pretty.

"Five," Nate said finally. "But maybe four. He probably sent for them immediately upon clearing out of that warehouse, knowing how we found him. Knowing _who_ told us where he was taking Sophie."

"Ah," Hardison raised his eyebrows. "You mean his thug who told it to Eliot would, erm…pay for it? He _did_ categorically refuse to talk when you threatened him with a gun."

"He might live," Nate said. "If de Bruin accepted that the info he gave him was more important that the fact he betrayed him." Nate glanced at him, giving him a small nod. _You decide_.

"What info?" Hardison sounded like he didn't like the turn this was taking. _Yeah, join the club, Hardison_.

"I told him my name," Eliot said.

Hardison choked. "You did _what_?!"

"It sped things up. It's not so important, knock it off."

"You mean the world-class torturer whose face you cut before beating him, now knows who you are? That kind of not important? Seriously, man?"

"Yeah, that kind – because de Bruin is, like, at nineteenth place on the scale of people who want me dead. I won't lose any sleep over him; I'll just add him to the list. Now move on before Soph-"

The door opened right that moment, and Sophie entered with a tray. Good, he didn't want Hardison's pondering upon that.

"De Bruin has enough money to put yet another bounty on your head," Hardison muttered lowly.

"He also has expensive taste," Sophie said. "Hardison, Patek Philippe watch, Calatrava collection, yellow gold – it is a limited edition, see what you can find about buyers." She put the tray down upon the work table and fresh coffee scent spread around her. "And, now," she added, "tell me, whose idea was it to hide from me that we have a dead body below our feet?"

Uh-oh. Eliot reached for a cup. Her voice gained that hard edge again, like in the motel, and a flame thrower was functioning too. But there was also a tremble in it, and in the too-slow move of her hands while giving a cup to Nate.

Nate looked up, met her eyes, and smiled. _Naïve fool_. "What would be the point of your seeing it?"

"I could not read him, Nate!" Oh, yes, she was pissed off, her voice too high pitched. "No matter how, how…awful that is, you had to show me, or at least tell me about it." A wave of disgust cast her eyes, tears simmering under the surface.

Nate's decision was right, but Eliot knew better than to say anything. It was enough for her to know what he did, she didn't have to see it; but, he could also understand why it was important to her.

"But what has seeing that dead body added to your knowledge of him?" Nate went on. "No matter how elusive he seems, you saw him, talked to him – you know him now and it will-"

"No, Nate," she breathed. "Now, I can cling to something real, to _hate_ him. Because he gave me nothing, and all I could read from him was my own feelings and fears, reflected from his smooth surface. Now I have something…real."

Nate opened his mouth to respond, but his face disappeared in a sudden blinding flash of light.

Eliot covered his eyes with his hand, but it was too late. One muttered _shit_, Sophie's yelp and his groan of pain were all covered with Hardison's too loud, "Yesss! Finally! Move, people, plug in everything you have, we don't know when the power will go out again!" Hardison was already on his feet, pulling on all the wires he could find.

The main light in the bedroom wasn't too bright, but after weak candles, it had burned through his eyes brighter than morning sun in the Gobi desert. Hardison plugged in Natalie's desk computer, and Nate pulled out all the phones, chargers and laptops Parker had stolen from the motel; again, that left him with nothing to do. He got up, nevertheless.

"I'll go check and turn off the lights in the house, if any of them is on, and I'll call Parker in," he said. "Sophie, you'll tell her to go to sleep. A dawn is near. We have a hunting trip as soon as Hardison locates Lieutenant Schafer."

She only nodded, but he lingered a moment. Her composure was up, yet the light revealed her red rimmed eyes. She didn't have to see that, didn't need images that would trouble her mind, sleep, and soul. Especially not so soon after she had been in de Bruin's hands, no matter how briefly, and how lucky they were with getting her out unscathed.

She held her cup of tea with both hands, resting her elbows on her knees, looking down at it, but she felt his stare and raised her eyes to him. And he didn't know what to tell her. He should've locked that damn door, kept the nasty things far away from her, from them. Feelings of regret and, and… failure, rushed over him.

No words came, and he shrugged, turning to walk away. But her hand reached out, yanked the edge of his jacket, and stopped him.

"Don't ask me that, Parker," she whispered. _What?! _She tilted her head a little, her dark, upset eyes disturbingly attentive. "Because if you ask me, I'm gonna tell you. So please, don't ask me."

He stood stupefied; out of a corner of his eye he could see Hardison and Nate stopping what they were doing. She glanced at them; they looked away. _Great, guys, just feed her with more shit, to confirm she's onto something_.

"What's troubling you, Eliot?" she studied him still, taking in his reaction. "You have the same haunted look in your eyes as you had when you said that in the park, when you told us about Moreau."

"You're imagining things," he managed to say. "My eyes are almost cross - eyed, that fooled you." What was it with those women tonight? First Parker – apparently, his eyes were the same as in Washington; now Sophie. Going to the bathroom and checking them in the mirror would be wise; what the hell was he revealing? Yeah, he knew what they saw – a man who _could_ do all the things he had said to that thug, simmering beneath the surface now, not buried deep, deep, as he kept him most of the time. They just translated what they saw into terms that were acceptable for them. Because, letting themselves understand what they saw would be too much, it would shake the very core of this team.

"I wonder what Florence would see in your eyes now?" she let her voice fall, probing, poking, feeling. "She could always see everything you tried to hide from her, did you know that?"

He went perfectly calm, put everything he had into keeping his face clear of any micro expressions; complete Spencer stealth mode. This time he would give her nothing – he couldn't allow himself to be studied now, of all times. Some shit wasn't for sharing, not even for helping – it was his to deal with it.

"Well, you can keep wondering, because unless you travel to Russia, which I wouldn't recommend under any circumstance, your quest shall remain unfulfilled." He even managed to color his voice with a slight hint of teasing, and it caused her lips to draw upwards. Three millimeters up, but it was something of a start.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

For a moment he thought she'd given up, then thought better and steadied himself. "To check the lights in the hou-"

"No, Eliot," she shook her head. "_Where are you going_? Choose wisely, because," she let go of his jacket, and tapped it a little, "wherever you go, I will follow."

Oh yes, she would. She did that before. But not now, not into _the thing_ that this job had awoken. He wanted to tell her that following him now would only lead her into the darkest depths of his mind. His thoughts of future hopes almost lulled him, letting him forget what lay in his past. What shook everything he thought he had gained, stolen from another man, and finally thought he would be able to _keep_.

He smiled at her with a natural, derisive smile. "Of course you would follow, darlin'," he said. "But don't forget to leave bread crumbs after you, 'cause there ain't no easy way of going back."

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Just watching Hardison at work had been exhausting. Sophie half sat, half lay on the bed, resting her elbow upon the pillows, sipping her tea. She had too much to think about, there was no chance she could sleep again. Yet dawn too slowly crept towards them, unable to break through the clouds of sand which engulfed the city.

Hardison had Natalie's computer on the table, his laptop beside it, another laptop plugged in and sat on the chair to his left, and a tablet in his hands; he worked on all of them, running different searches, turning from one to the other in the blink of an eye. Nate offered his help, and he was given one tablet to 'do something with Natalie's email contacts'. Even Eliot had tried to help him, but after only one quick look at the tilting screen, when he tried to scroll down some page, he staggered to the bathroom. Hardison's huff of sympathy, when he returned one shade whiter, had sent him on another aimless wander through the house. After two fruitless attempts to bring Parker down from the roof, Eliot decided to retreat back into the guest room. They all knew he wasn't going to sleep.

Nate gave up after an hour, and Hardison hadn't even slowed his moves during that entire time.

"I found matches between two lists," Nate informed her when he joined her on the bed, with a tired sigh. "She has many names on her contacts list. I made two groups; former employees, and current employees. Today we'll contact former ones. Hardison will dig deeper and find their old emails."

Hardison glanced at them, not stopping whatever he was typing. "Hardison will do that, in about two hours," he said. "Because Hardison is currently locating Schafer, digging up Herbert Kien-Quaney's GPS data, widening the search for Stu E. Campbell because that pinged a few interesting things that we can use, hacking through all Signia's offshore accounts, and Herbert's private ones, enjoying Patek Philippe's collections all over the world, reading Natalie's documents full of child clothing, accessing her Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, her hidden files, getting a grasp of her programming for Signia, trying to hack her passwords which ain't easy; now starting to watch Signia employee videos, and all of that while being sugar deprived because I don't drink what you drink and no one thought about searching for some soda for me. You are the most ungrateful, lazy bunch of crooks in the entire world."

"Breathe," Nate said.

"Hardison will breathe when this is over," the hacker said, and put a headset on, pulling one laptop closer, dismissing them with a theatrical wave of his hand.

Sophie just smiled at that sulking performance; Hardison so visibly enjoyed this work, that rush, that he would have to do much more to convince her he was overworked.

"Hardison?" she called just to test if he was listening or the sounds emanating from the headset would cover up her words, but he didn't glance at her. Nate did; he immediately knew why she had done that, and he started to get up.

"No, sit here," she caught his arm and pulled him back. "I have questions. What happened here while I was with de Bruin? What had he done, that disturbed him that much?"

He turned to her, half sitting, with one foot on the floor. "You with de Bruin was quite enough reason for him being disturbed, Sophie. Let him be."

She just smiled at him. She didn't say the name, and his immediate correct guess confirmed all she needed to know. It took only one second for Nate to catch his mistake, and he ran his hand through his hair, leaving it in a mess. "But don't worry, being disturbed won't slow his typing," he added with a crooked smile.

"Too late, but I appreciate the effort. Now, dear… I do not like what's going on here, just as much as you don't – yet you know what is happening. If you do not want to tell me, it's fine. Stupid, but ultimately your choice. I need to know one thing, though… will it escalate, or would he calm down? We still don't know what are we fighting here, and having a distraught hitter could be dangerous. Firstly, for him, and only after that, for us."

Silence. She could almost see sentences forming in his head, being examined and dismissed, while he searched for the best response. That only added to her worry.

"Leave it alone," he finally said. "We'll finish this as fast as we can, and everything will settle back into normal gear. There's nothing for you to do. You heard him – he has encountered things like these before, and those aren't pleasant memories. We're closer to that part of his life, too close for everyone's liking, and he is caught in a permanent mid-step. He feels he has to do more, to protect us from this greater danger, and at the same time, he can't perform even normal protection because of the state he is in. That's quite enough to push him into a complete frenzy. And it will all stop when we're out of this."

So marvelously logical. And true in most parts. But all that accumulated logic and reason, said with a calm voice, just showed her that if all of that were true, there wasn't a reason for avoiding her question about what happened, what Eliot had done. Nate could simply have said: nothing, if he hadn't really done anything.

"Ah, all right," she sighed. "I'll keep an eye on him, just in case, but you're right. We are all upset. Including you too. What are you going to do now?"

"Help Hardison if he lets me mess with his searches, and think. Maybe try to fetch Parker off the roof. You?"

"I'll just take a nap here," she pushed her cup into his hands and stretched like a cat, hugging the pillow. "Wake me up soon."

He pulled a blanket over her and tucked her in. She tracked his steps to the door of the twins' room through her eyelashes. He didn't enter, he stopped at the door as if he caught himself doing something unknowingly, then turned around and proceeded towards the work space. She opened her eyes completely when he turned the main light off.

It was true; all of them were upset by this. Not just upset, but also confused. It wasn't only a torturer near them that set them into this awkward place. It was the girls, too. The presence of the two tiny munchkins changed their behavior. Nate's pain was expected, and she didn't dwell on all the depths of it, it would be too painful, for both of them. And it was expected, she knew how this would make him feel. But the younger three were a surprise for her. Parker's effort, with crayons, with tucking them into the bed, taking them milk, with that story, it was heartbreaking attempting to figure that out. Children in general she could handle, but those two were too small for lock picking, they needed something else, and she tiptoed around them, doing things she saw that other people did. It was like her taking a bite out of every donut, to see which one she would like best – in this case, what would feel as the right thing to do.

Hardison was perfect with them. He hit the right vibe from the beginning with grinning, tickling, making them laugh, playing with them without thinking about what to do, he knew it naturally. But when he watched _Parker_ with them, that was something completely different. He carried his heart in his eyes then, uncertain softness, questions and thoughts, thousands of what-if's lining one after another.

Eliot was harder to figure out, he oscillated. He did that thing where he was all gentle, then he remembered that cooing over children too near the people who were lining up to question him about his love life, was too revealing, so he went for keeping a grumbling distance - but he was almost immediately drawn to them again because _dammit, people, you're doing it all wrong_. And he was constantly wavering on the edge of utter overprotectiveness, ending up neck-high in a pool of frustration.

The bread crumbs into that man's mind would be a mine-field for her, but she was willing to follow them. He didn't realize what, exactly, he had revealed with that slip of the tongue. There were _two_ lost in that story, two of them trying to find their way home.

Florence could be She-who-must-not-be-named, but for Sophie, she was present, as if she was here with them. Just as she was present in his mind all the time. But there was a difference now, she could feel it. Before de Bruin, Florence in his mind was the cause for a contented, calm happiness. There weren't many things that could trigger Eliot Spencer smile without knowing it.

Since de Bruin, he hadn't smiled at all. He didn't smile when she mentioned Florence just a few minutes ago, intentionally, to see how he would react. Florence in his mind now was something un-fitting, incompatible with the rest of him, causing him distress, not calm anymore.

The problem was she couldn't _say_ anything. Not a word. This time, there were no words that could help him solve this. He was on his own. The world's famous grifter was robbed of her most dangerous weapon; without her words, without that magic, she was nothing.

At the very least, she could try to be there if he needed her.

She watched the dawn advancing through their shutters, dozing away with the sound of typing, until the morning broke and the dusty veil around their castle glimmered like a snow storm.

It was time to start the day – to start things up.

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Lieutenant Schafer _knew_ something felt wrong with the raw despair in the eyes of Natalie L. Johnstone. She gave all the right answers - her business associate was holding a protective arm around her hunched shoulders as she talked about her daughters – and she didn't fake her tears and bare fear. He wasn't a fool, he had seen too many children murdered by their closest relatives, and this woman wasn't one of them.

But something. Felt. Wrong.

No suspects. No ex-husband threatening to take the children away; her ex was a military accountant, somewhere in the Middle East, with a new exotic wife.

No drug or alcohol abuse, nor physical abuse, the ordinary life of a woman with a great job she obviously loved, and two kids she clearly adored. Her hands hadn't stopped clutching one Hello Kitty plush toy for an hour, while they had gone through the initial questions.

Her associate Bill Howell, visibly upset, repeated what little he knew, which wasn't much, mainly what he heard her say while they had worked together. He was just an escort on her business trip. Or so he had said – he was checking him thoroughly.

He had fought for over an hour to get her out of that damn airport, but the Joint Task Force had him go from one authority to another like a damn yo-yo. The police investigation, no matter how urgent it was, had to back off when National Security was in question. He would've continued, if Natalie hadn't said that she would like to stay there, where everything had happened and where she was in the middle of things, rather than return to her empty house.

And Schafer still couldn't tell what was amiss with that woman's eyes, what lurked beneath that despair.

He set off to join the chase after his patrols reported they'd lost the kidnappers in the storm, and since then he had patrolled in vain, making circles.

The kidnappers had entered the storm, but they hadn't gotten back out of it – not a single white minibus was spotted coming out of the valley, _behind_ the storm in which they'd all rushed. They were still somewhere nearby, in the desert or in the town, and he had finally returned to patrolling the area where they last saw them. Combing the desert was useless – but they had two little girls in peril, and his blood was boiling cold.

They pulled an all-nighter after the entire day spent manically driving. He needed sleep –that was the only way he could continue with the investigation. He returned his patrol car to the station, said he would be back in six hours, and trudged to his own car. He was so tired that his keys fell twice from his hand when he tried to unlock it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" A female voice screamed through the wind; he turned around towards a blonde girl that held her jacket in the air with both hands, as if that improvised roof over her head would shield her from the sideways wind.

"Excuse me?" he asked, half yelling.

"You look like you might faint any moment now! So pale!"

"Thank you for your concern, but I'm not-"

"Oh yes, you are," she quickly nodded, stepping closer.

He _was_ tired; because even when a strange pressure around his neck blurred everything in front of him, his first thought was only that she had guessed correctly, that he really was close to fainting. But she wasn't shielding herself from the wind, came a quick thought – she blocked the view of the one parking-lot camera.

And while he started to fall, still held by one arm around his neck, he finally recognized the feeling in Natalie Johnstone's eyes, because it was mirrored in the eyes of this blonde. _Triumph_.

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	10. Chapter 10

TRTJ – Chapter 10

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> We are starting a resolution now. Don't expect this story to drag endlessly like the others did. I won't add more plot points and twists, so this will be one-case-only type of a story. Things are moving now, and we're heading for the climax very fast. (that 'very fast' should be taken with reserve, of course:D) So, when the final action starts, that will be it, there will be no 'something more/else' after they deal with this situation. I hope I'll be able to keep it under the 100K words mark – and that is one huge novel. I think Leverage novels are around 80K mark, so you're getting a few chapters more. It will take a little over 3 months to finish this, so maybe I can continue with that. Four novels a year ain't that bad.

We still don't have Season Six, Leverage Movie, not even any new novels, though they were promised to us, so I'll try to fill that gap as long as I can.

PS: Thank you for your reviews. That feedback is very important, I have to 'feel' you and see what you like or dislike – it all adds to my writing skills. And all your advice about ratings is taken into consideration. Only one thing – if you review as a guest, and ask something, I can't respond. Log in, it takes just 20 seconds, so we can use message form thereafter. If you don't want that here, for whatever reason, find me on Facebook – just type Valawenel in search. I do prefer FB messages over those, here on . They have smileys :D :D

PPS: special thanks to Smooth Doggie for betaing, and AJayeK for advice on how-to-make-4yo-twins-eat-vegetables issue :D you rock, ladies :D

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><p>.<p>

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"And why, exactly, have we kidnapped a Phoenix Police Lieutenant, and tied him up in the basement?" Eliot asked Nate when he climbed up to the first story after checking that Schafer was completely immobilized. The cop regained consciousness shortly after they'd put him in the car, but that was a good thing. Though he had draped Parker's jacket over his head, he would have been able to hear their every word, so they drove back in companionable silence. At least from their side of things – Schafer recited every criterion for capital punishment, laws, and conditions of the Arizonan death penalty, considering their very serious crime. It was very… educational.

When they arrived, he put him in the basement, while Parker wandered off to the kitchen.

Nate raised his eyes from the papers he studied. The pale morning light broke through the storm and half opened shutters, coloring his face a sickly grey. _More than likely a hangover_. "We're just borrowing him," Nate said. "I'm not sure yet how best to use him, though I have a few ideas, but it will be handy to have him here in case we need him fast, don't you think?"

"Right, kidnapping a police officer in an unfamiliar city, while crippled and unable to figure out what the hell is going on – yep, that sounds completely sane." He looked around not waiting for Nate's reply. "Where's Hardison?" Sophie was sleeping on the big bed, but abandoned laptops were blinking without supervision.

"Sleepwalking with his tablet, so I sent him to get some sleep while you were gone, but he took that damn thing with him, and I heard him pacing just a few minutes ago."

Eliot slowly lowered himself onto Hardison's chair. A couple of coffee cups were on the table; one of them was his, but he didn't know which one. He took the first one within his reach, and tried to relax his back. Driving with Parker went surprisingly well. He'd spent the most of the time with his eyes closed, to avoid nausea, and he'd only slapped her hand to tell her to stop speeding sixteen times. He was also half prepared for a reasonable explanation for when Nate had demanded the head of Prince Charming, he hadn't meant _only_ his head, but the whole package. No need for that, either. "Anything new happen while we were gone?" Preferably, something that wouldn't require him going out again; something that might deal with all this shit regarding Hardison's hacking, money transfers, and preferably end with a bad guy in jail by night fall.

"Yes, Manny was also sleepwalking."

Eliot sighed. Before he could formulate any thoughts, Hardison entered the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"I've finished the checks on Campbell," Hardison said. "Stu E. Campbell. Our head of the Art department is very – is that my coffee you're drinking? – very, very suspicious. Illegal gambling; he is an addict. I traced the money, and it is really always about the money, to a few offshore accounts. He also holds a 30 percent share in Signia, which puts him in a very high position on our list of suspects."

"Our list of suspects?" Nate said. "You mean him, and Herbert Kien- Quaney III? That list?"

"Let's not forget that we are trying to do recon in one day, with power going on and off, in a damn dust storm – our preparations usually take days, sometimes weeks. These are not the best conditions, Nate."

"Does he have enough money circulating around, to pay for de Bruin?"

Hardison shrugged. "More than enough. But so does Herbert."

"Who are Signia's direct competitors on the market?" Eliot asked.

"Corso Games are developing a game in that niche, and very soon their marketing campaigners will start shooting at each other. Why?"

"We still don't know what Natalie Johnstone did to piss somebody off," Eliot said. "What if it wasn't someone in Signia, but their competitors? You said that game is very valuable, and she is making it. Maybe they want her head, full of secret-"

"There ain't a single fairy tale where somebody wants the head of the Princess, Eliot." Hardison stood near him now, watching him with a patience that was visibly evaporating, and Eliot remembered he was sitting in his place. He contemplated leaning back and putting his legs on the table just to drill for the hacker's last nerve, but it wasn't worth the effort. He took his cup and moved onto the bed, careful not to disturb the bundle of pillows and blankets, with Sophie in the middle of it.

"No, they, whoever they are, don't want her head. Only her heart," Nate said. "And we have it here." He waved his hand to the twins' room. "With her heart in their hands, they could control her head."

"Too many body parts for my liking," Hardison said. "You're saying that she's being blackmailed with her own kids. You don't have to be a mastermind to figure that out."

"Yes, and without the girls, they can't force her to do anything. So why then didn't she spill everything to the cops at the airport? She pushed the girls to you, you got away; she knows that. She knows the police are still after us, alleged kidnappers, but without success. That means we still have her children." Nate turned to the bed. "Sophie, wake up!"

"Not sleeping," came a mumbled response, and her head emerged from the pillows where it had been stuck. "But I could have, had you not started-"

"What might our Princess feel right now?" Nate ran over her words.

"Dread and hope," Sophie said sitting up. "And perhaps a little gloating. After all, she did manage to get her girls away from the danger. However, we shouldn't forget that she doesn't know who Hardison is – for all she knows, she might have given her girls to some weirdo, or child molester, or a clueless literature student; her dread and hope would be in an uphill spiral. She's a wreck, and it will only get worse as time passes." She ran her hands through her hair and frowned. "This is awful." She reached over the pillows and took his cup. Eliot stood up to get another one.

He stopped by Hardison's shoulder, watching the image of Natalie Johnstone from her file on the screen. She wasn't smiling, and her eyes were narrowed. And sharp. "Not just that. She could be deranged by now, but this lady is a fighter," he said. "Nate is right; she would set cops onto the goons that surround her, and the fact we are still accused of kidnapping says she had kept silent. Why?"

"That's what we must find out," Nate said. "Sophie, you'll deal with Natalie Johnstone. As soon as we gather a few more facts, you'll go to the airport and see what's going on there. At some point we will have to get her out."

Eliot twitched. "Alone?" the word escaped him before he could think.

"You were the one who said that the airport goons were not well trained, that they were likely personal security, rather than something official. De Bruin has his five henchmen with him, he isn't dealing with Natalie and the airport. Those goons could be Campbell's, Herbert's or the competitor's security."

"I'll send Parker to steal me another car," Sophie said. "You'll need that SUV we took last night."

"Which one do you want?" Parker asked entering the room. She held a plate in her hands, with a suspiciously tall pile of something on it.

"The nearest you can find – something small and nothing ostentatious. What's that?"

"A triple cinnamon roll ice cream sandwich," the thief's smile was smug. "You want one?"

Eliot considered a visit to the bathroom, but opted to simply avert his eyes from that monstrosity, careful not to roll them. Though he couldn't _not_ say something. "You have real food prepared for breakfast."

"Do not start with food again, I beg you," Hardison said just before Parker opened her mouth, and Eliot just glared her grin away. "Let's concentrate on important things. Whoever drives that SUV has to be careful, it's been reported stolen and the police might do something, though it ain't likely, they seem to have more urgent matters to deal with in this storm. This must be a paradise for burglars, robbers… try to imagine how many alarms ain't working because of electr-"

"Wait," Nate raised his hand to stop him, right before the strange light settled in Parker's eyes. "How many giant SUVs could you steal in one dust storm, really?" he said. "Not you, Parker. In general."

"What do you mean?"

"The SUVs that chased us through the desert were also reported stolen. We stole the white mini-bus – and that reminds me, find the driver's name and buy him a new one - but all the cars involved in this were stolen. So I'm asking… how much time do you have to spend cruising through Phoenix in a dust storm with zero visibility, in order to collect so many, very similar SUVs?"

"You might be on to something," Hardison turned his back to them and typed. "Give me a few minutes – I'm keeping an open door to the police databases, in case we need something more, so I don't have to enter their reports again, I just have to go a few levels deeper… and almost there…" Eliot sipped his coffee while they all waited in silence. He watched Nate, a glint in his eye, and thought how Hardison could spare himself that search.

"While you're doing that, there's one more thing connected to those SUVs," Nate said. "Sophie, how long it took between your arrival in the warehouse and the arrival of the next SUV with people to collect Manny? It seemed only minutes passed, but I can't tell now."

"De Bruin called them when we left the car. It can't have been more than fifteen minutes, probably closer to ten."

"Signia Inc. building is in that radius," Hardison said. "They could have come from there, but I can't check, power was off at that time. No working cameras anywhere nearby. And we have results for stolen vehicles… Bingo! Signia Inc. reported almost half of their car park stolen yesterday. They cleared themselves in advance, by simply using allegedly stolen cars. I've counted five of them so far, I have all license numbers I need, but there's no need to check now." Hardison stopped typing and turned to another laptop, pressing a key. "So, that means we have only two suspects now." He pulled two photos up, one of Herbert Kien-Quaney III, and the second, a middle aged, tired looking guy, Stu E. Campbell. "Now to find out which buttons to press, Nate?"

"Yes, I'll do it. Today, as soon as you confirm that Signia's building has the power on. I'll need a business appointment, not a home visit. They have to be there, in the building."

"Herbert remains clean throughout all my searches, though his GPS shows a strange pattern – he visits his psychiatrist once a day. That's, like, way too much. I'll need more time to dig deeper into that. Start with Campbell instead. Natalie might've discovered his money transfers, or gambling debts, or that he used company funds… the possibilities are endless. Too bad we can't simply ask her."

"And why not?" Sophie said. "Who knows what opportunities I might find while at the airport. You could do one thing for me, though - we cannot predict how long this storm may last, though it will probably start calming down during today. Is there any way you can make some predictions as to when they will reopen the airport, and begin to release the first flights? We made a terrorism threat to ensure Natalie would stay there, grounded. Do we have to repeat that?"

"Probably not in the next several hours, but I'll keep that in mind. I haven't tried to enter the airport mainframe yet; every damn way I can is probably monitored, and I don't want SWAT teams on my tail unless I _want_ SWAT teams on my tail. Her destination would tell us a great deal though, when we confirm Signia is the bad guy here, I can find out from their-"

Nate smiled. "Try Paramaribo."

They all looked at him.

"Okay," Hardison stopped his fingers. "You're just pulling our leg now. We did mention South America and a few other countries where Signia opened departments, but no way have you come up with that Para- mara-whatever through that. You just made that up."

"Numismatic museum in Paramaribo has the world famous copperPapegaaienmuntorParrotcoin," Parker's words got stuck into one giant bite.

"One what?"

She swallowed. "Parrot coin. Been there. Super old. But not shiny enough to steal."

Eliot noticed Nate's eyes rested on Parker with a strange attentiveness. "You have all the info you need, Parker. Make a conclusion." She mumbled something. "Chew that, and _then_ make a conclusion," Nate added.

"How did you come up with Paramaribo as her destination? You want that?" she asked, lowering the cake-ice cream-sandwich that was melting dangerously now. "New departments are opening in Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, Suriname and French Guyana. Paramaribo is in Suriname, so she is flying to Suriname because of de Bruin."

Eliot glanced to Hardison. Judging by his frown, he wasn't the only one with a headache in the room. Parker's usual thread of thoughts made brains writhe in pain even without concussion. But Nate grinned at that nonsense, as if that made complete sense, and she grinned back.

Eliot leaned forward a little, so he could peer at Hardison's laptop. He pulled up the airport's website, or whatever it was called, as a regular visitor, and he went back to check all flights in a two hour time-frame of his first meeting with Natalie Johnstone. The hacker darted him a glance when the search results said Paramaribo, in mockingly bold red letters. He shrugged the unspoken question off – he had no idea.

"Oh," Sophie said. "I know. Suriname is the only one with Dutch as official language. De Bruin is Dutch, maybe even from there. That's a clear connection, it cannot be a coincidence."

"That, and the Malaria meds in her cupboard," Parker said. "You have to take them before flying, especially if you take the kids with you."

"Learn to share, Parker," Nate smiled again, then frowned. "Let me rephrase that – share all important things about our jobs, not, well, everything else."

"Okay, I'll find out everything I can about that Suriname department." Hardison for the moment looked as if he was unsure which laptop to turn to. Too many of everything already was going on upon them all, and starting one more meant he would have to stop or pause something else.

Eliot pulled a phone out of his pocket. "This is the best time to give you more work; I see you're already bored." He threw the phone into the hacker's hands. "Lieutenant Schafer's phone. It might have useful info on their investigation, and if our luck holds, something about the airport situation." He glanced at Sophie who was occupied with her hair. He still didn't like the idea of her going there alone, but the rest of them would probably be busy with their own tasks today. She _could_ do a basic recon without any problem; it wasn't her side that worried him.

A frustration boiled within him, as the anger settled deep in his heart. Every single piece of shit that could go wrong accumulated in his mind right now, when he wasn't in the best shape, when his feelings were raw. Damn, he wasn't even sure how well he was hiding his self-loathing, his personal fear of all things dark that had been awoken and brought too close to the surface. No, scratch that – he knew exactly. He sucked at it. Even this room, with all of them inside, made him hope that de Bruin would send more of his men, giving him a chance to fight, to release this frustration in pure violence.

Which was utterly stupid considering all the holes he had in him, the concussion, and double vision; and so the dance would continue, round and around, until he simply climbed to the roof to fight the sand storm, if nothing else.

He just wanted to _do_ something, to ease this boiling that gathered inside him – a hunting trip with Parker was just a small vent. He needed his steam valve exploding.

He took another sip of coffee, and sat back on the bed. He radiated a nirvana-like relaxation in all directions, in hope that it would equalize his inner turmoil, and he might appear relatively normal. His leg screamed in protest, but he paid it no attention, choosing instead to watch Nate. Who was watching Parker. Who, in turn, was watching Hardison. Who was watching…him? "What?" he asked Hardison, half ready to offer him some further searches to keep himself busy. It was better than sitting and worrying in silence.

"There is _one_ suspicious thing that you will like," Hardison said. "Only suspicious thing I found is extreme security around the main Signia building, but I don't think they are arming nuclear war heads there… their game is in its most vulnerable stage now, a release is expected soon, and if anything leaks to their competitors, especially to Corso Games, they are ruined."

"Define extreme."

"All employees have signed confidentiality contracts, they have limited access to their departments only, multiple password protected steps to the mainframe database. Basically, not even the different groups in the art department know what the other groups are doing, not to mention the other departments. Everybody works only on a small part of the game, so they can't tell the bigger picture."

"That's not security, Hardison," Eliot said. "That's office politics. Security is armed guards, sealed rooms and motion sensors, alarms and scanners, dogs and fire pits under the stairways."

Nate turned to them now, the same silent alert in his eyes like when he watched Parker, and that hit every raw nerve in his body.

"What's your problem?" he asked him directly. He had no patience for - a quiet screech from the door stopped his thoughts, and halted Nate's eventual reply; one of the twins tapped barefoot across the room to them, clutching a huge monkey. They watched her in silence; she looked like she was sleepwalking. She went directly to the bed, put the monkey on it, and climbed after it. She probably repeated that with her mother every morning.

Both him and Sophie sat very still as she wriggled her way between them, but the monkey ended in his lap, and she curled herself by his side, rubbing her eyes. He sighed and his hand moved through the messy curls. _No snapping at Nate now_.

"That's it, the other will follow in a minute," Nate said. "We have to get them ready for today, it might be very tiresome. Sophie, which one…?"

"Mickey," Sophie said. All of them looked at the girl now, trying to figure out how she knew, but without Manny by her side it was impossible to tell. Though, Eliot suspected her choice of pillow told her that – Mickey was driving with him the last time, she knew him and had snuggled with him before.

"I want that," one little finger pointed at Parker who was licking the ice cream off her fingers; he opened his mouth to tell Parker to not even think about it, when the door screeched once more and Manny tapped in the room, with a panda in her hands. "Ice cream," Manny said, blinking the sleep away.

"Forget it," he said low; his growl was meant for Parker, not for girls, but it didn't end in tears and fear as in beginning; Mickey chuckled, and Manny came closer. "Parker, move that thing away, they have vegetable salad and eggs for-"

"True, they need real food," Nate said with a tone of a voice he usually used while proclaiming the con they'd choose for a job, and Eliot raised his eyes to him, meeting a smirk. "Give them breakfast, Eliot."

"Forget it." Again, that resulted in another chuckle. Manny was heading directly to Parker, he noticed with growing worry.

"If you want them to eat properly," Nate said, "do it yourself – otherwise we'll feed them with ice cream. But I have to warn you, feeding four year olds with vegetables for breakfast might prove much, much more demanding than feeding Villacorta with shit."

Damn, he couldn't tell him to do it himself. On his left, Sophie quickly got up, murmuring something about very important preparation for her role and airport con. Parker had too eerie glint in her eyes, and Hardison was too busy…

Nothing could go wrong, right? They were hungry, they'd eat anything. Only thing he had to do was to mute the darkness whirling inside him, and put some form of a smile on his face.

He got up and went to bring plates and everything else needed, trying to ignore the pity in Nate's eyes.

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The daylight didn't mean the sand storm eased its slamming at their windows, and Sophie knew what would wait for her outside. Phoenix was still wrapped in a state of emergency, only vehicles which were absolutely needed would be on the road, yet there would be traffic. That would make her drive more dangerous than their slow trudging through the twilight darkened streets had been.

Sophie took the girls to the bathroom while Eliot was in the kitchen, hiding Parker's plate out of sight. Now she stood in front of rows of clothes, tapping her chin with her finger.

"Parker, will you help me?" she said to the thief before she started rummaging through Natalie's closets. "I need as many plastic bags as you can find." That would also keep Parker away from Eliot and the girls.

If Nate hadn't told him to feed the kids, she would have done it. His eyes, even when he talked about the case, had that confined expression she had so rarely seen in him, as if he was ready to chew off his own leg to get away from something. There was a storm inside that man, nastier than this one that surrounded them – and much more dangerous. Yet, the dark dismay in his eyes eased when he was watching the girls; whatever was troubling him was put on hold while they were near.

He had returned with chairs from the kitchen, food and plates, and he was busy arranging a breakfast table out of the vanity unit; he probably counted that a mirror would help him.

Hardison didn't have time to pay attention to him, but Nate seemed to be equally fascinated and withdrawn.

"Nate," Hardison called him, ending her thoughts on diverting his attention. "I sent something about Corso Games to your phone, and everything I collected about Herbert and Campbell. What play did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about the White van con, but a variant," Nate said checking his phone when it pinged. "This started with a white mini-bus; we can end it in the same tone. I will-" Another ping came, and Nate reflexively checked his phone, only then noticing it was a different sound.

A single silver bell. Eliot's phone.

Eliot's _other_ phone, Sophie realized when he reached into his pocket and took out a small burner phone.

Hardison let out a huff. "Do we have to guess who sent that message?" he said. "I'm not mentioning or implying anything, but have you seen the movie From Russia With Love?"

Eliot darted one nasty glare at the grinning hacker, and checked the message. _No smile_. Sophie watched him, hoping it was because of them – an audience probably annoyed him immensely. But he didn't hit reply. He just read it, with a blank face, and put it back. All her alarms rang at the same time when he stopped his hand, a flash of disgust showing on his face, and changed the move, instead putting the phone in his left jeans pocket. Then he looked at Hardison, and smiled. "You were sayin'?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing, I got it. I was mistaken; it was For Your Eyes Only."

"Good thing there ain't too many Bond movies, you'll run out of them before breakfast."

"Too bad – we even have A Man with the Golden Knife."

"Don't you have, like, twenty-four searches you have to work on?"

"Couldn't agree more," Nate jumped in, right on time. "And don't you have, _like_, two starving children to feed? Move, people, we are running out of time."

That worked; a grin and a glare were exchanged before they returned to their duties. Hardison continued his typing, and he and Nate engaged in discussing all variants of the White van con.

Sophie tuned them out, her attention seemingly all on the clothes. She kept an eye on Eliot who entered into negotiations about toys. Mickey agreed to leave the monkey on the bed, and he turned to Manny with her panda, but only two seconds after his attention shifted, monkey was again in Mickey's hands, and panda didn't seem to move either.

Sophie chose shabby trousers and few shirts and put them on the bed, beside them. "You're doing fine," she said, patting him lightly on his upper arm. Her other hand, when she leaned to tickle the panda in Manny's embrace, slid into the right hand pocket of his jacket. That was a dangerous move; only Parker could lift anything from him, and she hasn't ever tried this before – yet he was too occupied with the monkey to notice it. She didn't have to pull the thing out to see what it was; her fingers recognized the shape and small holes in a golden coating.

She was lucky that Mickey rolled over in a forward roll and he reached to stop her falling from the bed, because her fingers twitched, and she pulled her hand out with a noticeable yank.

Why the hell had he kept de Bruin's knife? Though, now she knew why he changed his move; he didn't want _that_ phone to even touch it. That was a good sign. She returned to the closets a little calmer, and tried to concentrate on the task before her, and not on the goings-on behind her back.

She resisted turning back for an entire minute.

The negotiations were in a delicate phase; it seemed that the only way to make the girls go to their chairs was to allow their toys to be put on the floor by their feet. Eliot even managed to get them on their feet, shooing them in front of himself; he almost made it. They were only three steps from their breakfast when Mickey went left, Manny went right – without previous arrangement, completely spontaneously – leaving him to stand mid-step.

Hardison and Nate, Sophie noticed, were still talking, but both of them were sitting comfortably and now turned towards the show in front of them.

Eliot went left, picked up Mickey who was reaching for the bathroom door, and took her to her chair. Then he went to the right, picked up Manny who was heading for Parker's plate with remnants of the ice-cream, and took her to her chair. But Mickey was already climbing down, pushing her monkey under the table. And they both giggled and talked, explaining to him how they really really _really_ weren't hungry and why he couldn't just play with them.

Sophie turned around and buried her face in the closet. _Clothes_. She needed the clothes for the airport. It took a few minutes before she found something that would draw Natalie's attention immediately, something unique. She found a cloak, dark blue like a deep summer night, set with silver stars around the hem and at the throat. Not a usual mantle for the airport - she was sure Natalie would recognize it.

"Ah, geek is strong with that one," Hardison nodded approval when she added it to the chosen ones on the bed.

"There," Eliot said finally, and Sophie turned around to check his progress. He had both of the girls in their chairs, plates in front of them, and he stood by the table with his arms crossed. "Now eat."

She bit her lip when she saw aghast little faces; after the first moment of examination, they both raised their eyes to Eliot. Mickey's chin trembled; Manny was frowning. A dam broke in stereo.

"Where's the ice-cream?" They pushed the plates away; Sophie couldn't blame them, she saw French beans and eggs. "I want mommy! – Yuck! – Mommy ALWAYS gives us ice-cream for breakfast! Right?" Mickey stopped to nudge Manny. "Yeah, right, always. This isn't breakfast." After that, even Sophie couldn't decipher which one was saying what, except they both looked heartbroken. "I'll tell on you, you can't make us eat – eeuw, eeuw, eeuw, ACK! I'm not eating this, this looks gross."

Now Eliot's face looked aghast; he stared at the girls with a desperate realization. "Be reasonable," he said in a millisecond of silence, before Mickey changed her approach from crying to a charming smile, and Manny from anger to deepest pits of sorrow. Two miniature grifters had their victim in their claws. And they squeezed.

"_Be reasonable_?" Nate murmured beside her; she hadn't noticed him coming closer to the closets. He had two chairs in his hands, and he put them near her and sat down.

"Shhh," she whispered sitting beside him. Laughter boiled in her chest, but she knew if she laughed, the girls would take that as a cheer, and continued with double strength. "He is trying an individual approach now."

Eliot indeed directed all his effort on Mickey, leaving Manny to clutch her panda and murmur to it; but this time, Eliot Spencer encountered a female immune to his charm. Mickey watched the fork he held in front of her mouth with barely hidden revulsion. The only time she opened her mouth was to say: ice-cream – not even Eliot had time to fill her mouth with vegetables before the gate closed again.

"And there goes the denial phase," Nate said when he put the fork down and got up in one furious move, heading for a bathroom. "Now let's see how he will deal with the anger." Eliot returned in the blink of an eye, before they could slide down from the chairs – he brought two cups with water. Sophie noticed he was breathing through his nose, slowly. But his teeth were gritted.

"Nope, he is heading directly to the bargaining, dragging the anger along," she said.

"You do realize that monkey hasn't eaten for days?" Eliot said. "When was the last time you give him something to eat?"

"Oh." Mickey opened her eyes widely.

"I thought so. Shall we feed the monkey now?"

"Okay."

"I don't know what he likes, and we don't want to feed him with eeuw stuff – so you have to try this," he raised the fork again, "and see if it's good enough for him. Okay?"

Sophie now had a hand over her mouth. The scene reached the climax, the odds were balancing for one moment, almost, almost… and then everything crushed down when Manny said, "My panda only eats ice-cream."

Mickey closed her mouth and scooted away.

Eliot lowered the fork and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Nate leaned closer to her ear. "Depression or acceptance?" he asked. "How long before he realizes that you can't play fair with them?"

Sophie just patted his arm instead of replying. She was waiting for something else; she followed Eliot's every move, taking in his tone of voice, his posture, his facial expressions and smiles. But it wasn't time yet, he was still too nervous.

His next move was to arrange the hard boiled eggs on their plates, stuck the French beans in them, making small boats that sailed on a sea of mashed potatoes – seriously, his choice for breakfast was disgusting – and that kept them fascinated long enough for him to explain how beans gave super-powers to girls, monkeys and pandas. The monkey was the first one who gave in, though – and after the mutual examination of his newly acquired super strength, the miracle happened. They took their first bites. Even the panda had some.

And of course they then realized it was good, and they were really hungry, so he could lean back in his chair, and pay attention to the outer world. In the meantime, Hardison stopped pretending he was typing, but Eliot seemed to be too drained even to glare at him. He just listened to their babbling, occasionally pushing the boats closer to their forks.

When Manny poured some water on her potatoes to make waves, and genuine laughter escaped him, at that point Sophie got up and joined them.

She hooked her hip on the table edge, waiting for him to raise his eyes to her. There was softness in them, finally, when he did. She was deep into his personal space, almost touching him, and she felt no boundary walls rising up.

She couldn't say anything – but she waited for this, exactly _this_ moment, to anchor this emotion.

"May I ask what was in Florence's message?" she asked, her voice and eyes matching his softness.

This time, his smile grew wider. "Good morning," he said. "And some babbling that would have no meaning to you."

She wiped some dust off his sleeve, leaning in even closer. "I do miss her, you know?" she said quietly. "And you are the only connection to her, so forgive me if I ask, sometimes, about her." Her words were followed with giggles – apparently, monkey had enough, and he was pushing panda with his new super-powers. Eliot's eyes darted to check the breakfast progress; her hand remained on his. She had to link Florence to this warmth, to bridge that gap she felt in him after _nothing happened, Sophie_. Using this on a team mate wasn't fair, but she had no other means. _Damn you, Nate_.

"Yeah, she misses you too. All of you," he said, that feeling mirrored in his eyes now, and Sophie smiled once more before getting up.

"They deserve some ice- cream now, don't you think?" she said, not pushing it further; she had done what she wanted to do. Two pairs of eyes turned to him, wide open, waiting for a verdict.

"Okay," he grumbled finally, and two unison screams of joy pierced her eardrums. The monkey flew into his arms, and one wet, mashed potato-lined smooch ended up on his cheek.

She left him in amidst another round of negotiations and under attack, and went back to her chair.

Nate's eyebrows were raised; he tilted his head to her with a half hidden smile. But he said nothing.

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When Parker returned with her hands full of plastic bags, the light flickered for a few moments, and died. Hardison let out one low snarl. Eliot glared at him; the girls flinched at that sound.

"I thought you had everything charged by now?" Nate asked the hacker. "You should have a few more working hours even without electricity."

"The power is not the problem, internet is. It died. Completely, utterly, I'm-no-longer-online _died _on me!"

Okay, that was serious. Even Eliot frowned without any nasty gloating objection. Though, the thought of an offline hacker would be hilarious any other time. He never knew what Hardison did when he wasn't able to type something; that must've been something special to observe.

Nate got up and checked the morning light through the shutters. "Is there a chance you can catch some Wi-Fi somewhere in the city?"

"Maybe," Hardison said, pressing the keys all around himself in a desperately random pattern. "Can't tell, the storm is raging – but I should. You have something in mind?"

"Yes, foot work. We have to talk with former employees of Signia Inc. and see what's going on in there, and find out more about Campbell's money manipulations. Sophie is going to the airport so that leaves the rest of us, and now you too. I have a list of employees on my phone, with all their information including addresses; I'll pass it along to you all. We'll find the nearest ones, and go talk to them."

"Internet may return soon. It's better if I wait here and-"

"No. We will spend a maximum of two hours on this, no more, and you can catch Wi-Fi somewhere as we move." Nate glanced over the room, but his eyes didn't fall on him. Eliot was still sitting with bowls of ice-cream and both girls; Parker and Sophie packed some clothes into plastic bags.

"Your car is on the street," Parker handed Sophie car keys. That left the SUV for the rest of them. But they needed more transport in order to deal with the employees at the same time, not one by one, going all together. That was something they would solve when they get going; Parker could steal a car or two along the way.

"I tried to solve our earbud problem," Hardison said. "It's not the best solution, but it's the only one for now. Your phones now have a conference call on speed dial. You can go in and out of it, and I suggest you keep it on only from time to time, to check on others – as it will eat your battery very fast. Put your Bluetooth ear-piece in your ear and it's almost as you have an earbud. Poor sound quality, but that's all I can do for now. Check it now."

Eliot pulled out his phone; everything seemed to be working. But they had one more important thing to solve. "Nate, what about the girls? Who will take them? Or will we separate them again?"

"Well, about that…" Nate shrugged. "They will stay here. With you. You aren't needed for this as we'll simply ring on people's doors and ask them about their former employer."

"What?! I'm a babysitter now?"

"You'll do fine," Nate now smiled. "But it's not just that. We have a… D.E.A.D man in the house, and one policeman locked in our basement. It would be wise to keep an eye on them too, don't you think? We need this house as a base, guard it."

"A sparky dragon at the gate of the castle," Parker grinned.

"I have Ice Age two and three on the tablet," Hardison tapped him on his shoulder while passing him by. "Good luck."

Good luck he would need, indeed. The girls were still occupied with the ice- cream, but he couldn't feed them forever. He almost asked Nate what he should expect, but stopped that at the last second. They will, probably, play with… something. Or sleep.

But damn, he didn't like this – all of them out of his reach, doing things on their own, with as yet an unknown bad guy behind everything. Not to mention de Bruin and his five merry men, also lurking around _somewhere_.

They all avoided looking at him; he tried to keep calm because of the girls. And the team. And for Phoenix. "We bypassed a normal job one-body ago, Nate," he said finally. "Let's keep this on the current level, okay?"

"Simple recon," Nate said. "Not even plan A yet. But we _are_ starting."

"What are we going to steal?" Parker asked.

Nate stopped mid-step and thought, his gaze flying over the twins. "Something that will bring our Princess home," he said quietly. Then he smiled. "Let's steal ourselves a pumpkin."

And just like that, they were gone.

Eliot slowly exhaled. A sudden silence in the room felt ominous; he'd gotten so used to their voices that only two, tiny ones, weren't enough anymore.

Yet, he had a message to reply to, and one prisoner chained to the wall to guard – not to mention The Ice Age; a day full of fun.

He chased away the sinking feeling in his gut; it was just his paranoia starting its endless tirade. Nothing could go wrong, right? A new mantra.

_Right_.

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	11. Chapter 11

TRTJ – Chapter 11

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Eliot knew the girls were bored but there was nothing he could do to help. Putting them on the big bed with bowls of ice-cream and The Ice Age on Hardison's tablet bought him a little time. He brought a chair to the window that overlooked the street, to keep that side under surveillance.

"Nate!" the howl in his ear pierced not only through his skull, but through his bone marrow, and was followed by even louder screeching and bangs. Hardison sounded as if he was shouting only three inches from his ear. "That USB stick I gave you will bring me every last piece of information we need! Make Campbell plug it in his laptop or computer, and I'm in, I'll have his entire-"

"Hardison, dammit!" Eliot said, stopping the noise. "Turn the volume down and stop yelling, we can hear you!"

"You're yelling, not me, I'm speaking quietly. And I can hear you quite well, no need to-"

"Maybe you are the one who needs to turn the volume down, Eliot," Sophie said; her voice was followed by an engine sound. "I can hear them perfectly well. Not that it's anything like using our usual earbuds, naturally – these things catch too much background noise, from all of you, and being in the car is not helping either. If you don't need me now, I will turn my phone off, to spare the battery."

"No, Sophie, I have to know where you are and what's going on, at all times."

"You will, but not until after I arrive. Remember that Natalie's house is forty minutes' drive from the airport, and that was before the storm. I'm driving at a snail's pace; it will take much longer now. I'll come back online again when I park up at the airport."

"This sucks," Parker barked even louder than Hardison.

Eliot pulled the Bluetooth headset off and held it in the air. "Everybody, stop yelling and turn your volume-"

"But I'm whispering!" Parker said. "I'm preparing to knock on the door of…" she stopped, as if checking her list. "…target one, Mildred Something, forty-three years old, worked two years in the Art department and quit with no explanation."

"Nate, where are you?"

A faint ghost of his voice broke through the background. "Heading to…Nguyen…house."

"What? Why are you whispering?"

"I'm yelling!"

Eliot let out one long breath, ducking his head as he ran both his hands through his hair. _Stress levels, right_.

When he raised his head again, two pairs of eyes were studying him with careful expressions.

"What?" he asked the twins.

"Mommy does our hair in the morning," said the left one. The one on the right had a brush in her hand.

Hardison's snickering sounded like a jet engine whose motor had just exploded into life.

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Nate parked his vomit-green Volkswagen beetle – _remind me to thank you, Parker_ – as far away from the street lamp as he could. Hardison found five ex-Signia employees in this part of Phoenix, so they didn't have to drive too far. It had taken him only fifteen minutes to find this house. This block had electricity. Judging by Hardison's constant nagging since he parked near his own target, the hacker had chosen the one without any light.

"I'm in position, target two on the former employee list," Nate said. Nobody answered. He took his phone and increased the volume, but that only multiplied all the sounds he heard – Parker's humming sounded like a deep volcano brewing. He quickly set the volume back to the previous level, and yelled, "I'm in position! Target two!"

"What market?" Eliot said. "Where are you? Now turn around."

"Target! Two!" He glanced over his shoulder. "Why should I turn around?"

"Not you, dammit! You, on the left. Mickey?"

Nate rubbed his forehead. "Now listen to me carefully, Eliot – stop talking. Unless you have some crucial information to share, just listen. Hardison, progress?"

"Target three – nobody at home. But I'm sitting in the car and catching their neighbor's Wi-Fi. I need at least fifteen minutes more before I move onto the next target – and maybe you should take that one. Or Parker. I'm hacking the Suriname Art department files right now and I don't like what I've found. There have been two suspicious deaths in the last three months. I'm trying to dig up as much detail as I can. Stu E. Campbell returned from Suriname only a week ago. As far as I know, Herbert Kien-Quaney hasn't been there since it was opened for business."

"Okay, focus on Campbell for now. Signia building is operational?"

"Yes, they are closer to the center of the city, so it's less likely they'd lose the power again."

"Stay in the car, and keep digging. If your target returns home, good. If not, we have others to check on. Keep me posted." He checked the battery level and ended the conversation; all the other sounds would just distract him, and the headset might look suspicious to his target.

The storm lashed at Nate as soon as he stepped onto the street, and he ran towards the main door of the small house. Kim Nguyen was the former employee's name. He rang the bell, shook the sand off his hair and jacket, and tried to look as if there was nothing unusual in an unknown man banging on someone's door in the middle of a state of emergency.

"Good morning," he flashed a smile upward, to a six feet five inches tall mountain of a man who opened the door. "I'm looking for Kim Nguyen. I need her for only a few minutes... I have a question and I think she can help me."

"She's sleeping. What question? Who are you?"

"I'm investigating unusual money transactions at Signia Inc. I understand Stu E. Campbell was the Head of her department at the time she worked there. She-"

"She can't help you." The man took half a step closer, but not threatening him – he darted two quick glances at the street behind Nate's back. "There wasn't anything 'unusual' in her department, and even if there was, she can't speak about it. She signed a confidentiality contract. Good day."

"I understand," Nate nodded, a smile spread across his face. "She doesn't have to tell me anything-"

"I said, good day." The man turned and slammed the door in his face.

Nate sighed and ran back to his car, hitting speed dial. "Hardison. Nguyen won't speak," he said when all the noise returned to his ear through the conference call. "Her husband pulled the confidentiality contract – but he behaved as if he expected thugs behind me. There's definitely something in Signia Inc. worth finding out. I'll leave the other employees to you and Parker, and head directly to Signia. Any luck in locating Campbell or Herbert in the building?"

"No, I had to stop everything, I've lost the Wi-Fi signal. Can't tell you anything about Campbell, but Herbert's GPS was there." Even through the noise the pissed-off frustration was clear in Hardison's voice. The hacker wasn't used to failure, and not providing everything they asked from him. Nate shared the feeling completely. Boy, they _were_ crippled. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, pondering their next move.

"Okay, listen up everybody," he finally said. "Herbert seems to be clean for now, that means he could be useful. I'll go directly to him and establish first contact, as a negotiator for Corso Games. I have your files about them on my phone." He stopped and waited.

He didn't have to wait more than a few seconds; Eliot spoke immediately, "Going alone inside the Signia building? If you wait until after they've seen the former employees, I can go with you."

"You will come with me for the second meeting. This first one is just recon, and initial set-up. Through Herbert I can use a direct approach to his Head of the Art Department. Hardison, you can't guarantee you will be able to give us anything more about the building, except the strength of the security that you've already found, right? I'll be there and able to see it for myself. I'll meet Herbert, try to make him to plug in your USB stick, and you'll have access to every secret Signia has – even if I can't arrange the meeting with Campbell."

"Which IDs do you have with you?"

He checked his wallet. "A standard Tom Baker – and don't nag, I know you burned them all, this one I kept for… well, I have no idea why. Can you do something with it?"

"If I find another Wi-Fi source on my way to the next employee, I'll try to add you to…what? The Board of Directors at Corso Games, or their Art Department?"

"The Art Department – closer to the game making process. I'll plant the possibility of cooperation into Herbert's head, and after he hooks me up with Campbell, go with selling secrets. When I get back, we'll set all details of the white van con in motion. Send me their phone numbers."

"I don't like it," Eliot's low grumble fitted perfectly into the thundering noise of the wind.

"We'll be in contact when I get there. Now, back to driving."

He ended the call, checked the battery, and set the coordinates on his GPS to Signia Inc HQ.

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"My Mildred moved from this address about six months ago," Parker said when Eliot finished with one head of hair, the owner of which remained unknown. His frustration with the inability to tell the twins apart rose to time-to-cheat- levels. The other girl was literally rolling around on the floor in laughter at his creation. His best angry glare didn't work on them at all, though he had to admit, he couldn't pull it right. "I'm heading to the next one on the list, but I'm stuck in traffic." Parker's voice diverted his attention from staring at the twins, trying to remember did the bun-less one say she was Manny, or had they exchanged places right after that. _Again_.

"What traffic?" he asked. "There can't be many cars on the streets."

"An accident. One delivery truck slid on the sand and blocked the street in front of me – firefighter truck rear-ended me and I can't pull out. If I have to wait more than five minutes, I'll leave this car and take another one."

He checked the time; all this going to and fro, driving slowly and moving around ate almost an hour. Sophie should be near the airport soon.

His headset was catching three sides of the storms. No matter that all of them were in their cars so the sounds weren't raging in their fullest force, it didn't help his concussion any. But he dared not turn it off, even for a second.

"Stay there," he said to the girls and went to check Hardison's laptops. One of them had a map of Phoenix with green dots marking all the employee's houses, along with the airport, Signia building and de Bruin's warehouse. It wasn't online so it wouldn't show him where the three of them were on the map, but it helped him to position them nevertheless. They've chosen the nearest employees, and all of them were in a fifteen-minute radius from him. Signia was at the outer end of that circle, but also pretty near.

One dot blinked while he was watching it, and four orange ones appeared, showing him the team's individual positions. _Right on time_. "Hardison," he said. "I think your internet is back. If you're still sitting somewhere catching the Wi-Fi, you can come back."

"On my way," Hardison said after two seconds. "Check the laptop on the chair – is something moving there? My search should continue now – I've sent a worm into a psychiatrist's clinic, the one Herbert uses, to dig up his files. Do you see any files popping up?"

"Nothing yet. I'll keep my eye on it. Anything else?"

"No, don't touch anything; I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Nobody said anything else, and Eliot readjusted his headset, moving it a few inches away from his ear. He would hear them if they said something, but until then, the roaring of all accumulated storms was lessened a little.

"I want a spinning bun, too!" something yanked his jacked. Some-_one_; a bun-less twin now wanted the same thing he did to tell them apart in the first place.

"You can have a special pony tail," he tried. "More special then…" No, he couldn't say that. "_Equally_ as special as a bun, but very distinctive."

"But, but…spinning bun is funny!"

Damn. He sighed, well aware that it wasn't the bun, it was the spinning part of it. "Okay, turn around." He had already combed their messy curls, cursing Sophie who had washed their hair and put them into their beds without combing their hair first. Nobody told him that combing the curls would make them more… curly. When he had finished, they both had giant red clouds on their heads, and they were squeaking with joy. That was the main clue that their mother would not approve that, and he had no intentions of spending the end of this case explaining to angry Natalie Johnstone what the hell had he done to their perfectly shaped ringlets.

"Mickey?" he said neutrally. The bun owner looked at him. _A deduction level – genius_. "Okay, Manny, get ready. On three." He collected the entire fluffy cloud on the top of her head, and prepared the Hello Kitty rubber band. "One, two, three, spin!" Manny spread her arms and spun in place, and her hair in his hand spun too, until he had a spiraled hair-coil that settled into a bun all by itself. One quick tie with the band, and her bun was in place. "There you go!" He observed them both, identical again, but looking very happy, _and that's the main point in this, right_?

They both ran to the mirror on the vanity-unit. He tried to remember if Manny had spun clock-wise, or counter clock-wise – the direction of the spiral could maybe tell him which one was… nah, they changed places in the blink of an eye, and for a moment he saw four of them – by the time he adjusted his focus, they were hopelessly mixed up again.

"Now go to your room and play with something," he said. "Leave the door open. I'm going to the kitchen for a minute, and I'll leave this door open, too. You can call me if you need something."

They both nodded and sprinted into the pink room. He checked if there was a candle left burning, but there was no need for that. Murky daylight gave enough light for now.

One more glance at Hardison's laptops, and he collected all the plates and leftovers from breakfast, and went along.

The kitchen was just an excuse; he passed it and climbed the stairs down to the basement.

He did it right on time. Lieutenant Schafer, tied firmly with the zip-ties they took from de Bruin's thugs, had managed to snap the ties that bound him to the radiator, and he had crawled like a worm half way towards the cupboards and shelves. He was still blindfolded, so his search for a tool was hindered.

Eliot cleared his throat, and the young cop froze. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he whispered; a dry, husky sound that had nothing in common with his real voice.

"What do you want from me?!" The cop snarled. "Set me free while you still can – I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know."

Eliot pulled him on his feet and dragged him back to the radiator, this time securing the zip-ties more thoroughly. Those on his wrists and ankles still held tight. Even if he wanted to answer his question, he had no idea what Nate's plan for him was – and he shared his frustration.

He always avoided hurting cops, and this one had not only been clubbed, but also tied up and scared to death; not the thing he would choose to do to someone who fought for the law. Especially not after he saw how quick and good this one was. Schafer had earned his respect, and he couldn't risk even to make him more comfortable.

This sucked. And Nate had better have a damn good plan.

He slammed and locked the basement door, then circled around the ground floor checking all doors and windows.

His headset was silent until he climbed the stairs again.

"Eliot, anything new on the screens?" Hardison asked.

"Gimme a sec." He first listened to the sounds from the pink room – no-one was screaming or banging, there was only a peaceful silence. Then he went to the laptops. "The medical one is starting to list through lists of files, not yet files themselves, as in written, erm, papers. The one on the table just spins account numbers. What are you tracking?"

"Hacking Signia and Campbell's offshore accounts."

The last laptop, with their positions, showed one orange dot close to the house – Hardison – and one almost touching the green dot of the airport. Sophie would join the conversation in a few minutes. If everything went as planned, added a small nagging voice into his head. But he really had nothing to worry about, at least not _yet_.

"How do we call Sophie to return to the conversation?" he asked Hardison.

"We don't do it _from_ this call. End this one, and you can call her normally and tell her to join this conversation after she hangs up. Why?"

"No reason, carry on."

He knew his paranoia was getting out of control when he thought how Natalie L. Johnstone might be the super-villain behind all this, and all of them were being drawn into a trap. Right, a woman would have to be a mutant super hero, not just a villain, to guess the exact time when the three of them left Washington, and Nate and Sophie flew from Portland, and to ensure a sand storm would ground them all in the town where she lived and worked; right in time for her girl to bump into Hardison. Not even the entire Leverage team knew what the other half was doing, much less a complete stranger. He weighed the phone on his palm, deciding whether to call Sophie or not, finally deciding to put it back in his pocket. She would call when she stopped driving.

"Everything okay back at the house, Eliot?" Nate asked out of nowhere, right on time to stop his thoughts. "I can only hear silence."

"Yeah, the girls are playing in their room, and all the rest is still under control."

"In complete silence? Go check on them. Silence is dangerous."

He sighed. His every reply to Nate could be prickly, and it was easier to check then to argue about it. He peered through the door, and managed to stop the curse at the last second. Half of the wall behind their beds was covered with crayon drawings.

"Stop that!" Little rascals knew they were doing something wrong, because they both jumped and hid the crayons behind their backs. But they smiled brighter than summer sunshine, and his words died out before he could continue. They tested the boundaries, to see how far they could go without their mother there to set them straight – and for now, he was doing a very lousy job.

The other three were on boring recon business, and it would take at least another fifteen minutes until Sophie arrived at the airport; he had to calm down his troubled nerves. The girls were sensitive, and they felt something was odd around him. The last thing he wanted was to scare them.

"Come here," he said softer. They jumped down from their beds, but their steps towards him were reluctant. "I have an idea."

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The central part of the main terminal was open to the public, though with police and security controls at the entrance, and many uniforms still swarming around. Sophie parked her car as far away from any camera as she could, and pulled out all the bags she had taken from the house and Natalie's closets. Half of them were filled only with plastic bags.

All flights were still grounded, but the airport seemed to be as busy as always, with many people checking in, inquiring, or simply stuck there until their planes were set to leave. Dust storms usually died out as swiftly as they arrived, and most passengers had chosen to wait.

She fumbled with her keys, bags, dropping them all three times during her walk to the main entrance, and managed to open a bag with clothes that flew all around in the wind. It took only a few seconds to almost ruin them with the dust and dirt; she made sure she collected as much sand as she could while putting the clothes back in the bag.

After dispatching brilliant, yet disarming smiles to the nice people that helped her, she had relieved them of a boarding pass, two wallets. The fat man in a suit permitted her entry while he carried her bags, and their boarding passes in his teeth. Everybody shielded their faces from the whipping wind, so her hiding from the cameras wasn't in the least bit suspicious.

She got rid of him by leaping into the arms of another unknown man, and finally managed to dance her way to the toilets.

She hit speed dial. "I'm at the airport. I have only seen the central part of the terminal for now, no sign of Natalie and/or the thugs."

"What do you see?" Nate asked.

"SWAT and Police everywhere. They obviously cleared this part and proclaimed it bomb-free. I see them swarming airport hangars and other terminals. Two armed vehicles are at the far end, I think they are sweeping the planes now. I will go offline again, and check back in when I have something important to report."

"Not only important, Sophie," Eliot said. "Anything that looks odd, or dangerous, or out of place."

"Roger that," she smiled and cut them all off.

She was alone in the huge toilet. She chose a stall and dragged all her bags inside. A quick check on the lock showed her she wouldn't have trouble locking it from the outside.

Her hair was already full of dust, but now she wrapped it into a dirty kitchen rag from the house. Natalie's toilet bag, full of make-up, helped with adding a dirty smear across her face, with dust from her hair smudged into powder, transforming her face into that of an ugly alcoholic complete with a few touches of red lipstick smeared across her skin. The next step was the bag full of clothes which she had dragged in the dust. She put all of it on over her clothes, layer upon layer, making her figure almost unrecognizable. Lastly, she wrapped and tied a jacket around her waist, and over that, as a pathetic attempt to add some long lost glamour, she tied a blue mantle with silver stars, as some sort of over-skirt that covered a sickly looking, brown and dirty under-skirt.

She put all the rest of it back into plastic bags, hung three of them around her waist, took two in her hand, and limped out.

Now she had enough space around herself, homeless people were invisible.

Their terrorism threat was taken seriously. As far as she could see, only one quarter of workers remained, the others were sent home. The airport was struck by the storm and the threat at the same time, and only front line workers were still there. Duty-free shops were closed; that entire section, though still bathed in light, was sealed off by tape. Parker would dance through this like a child in a candy-shop, Sophie thought glancing over the tape; sparkly shop windows, ghostly silent, were inviting. And they spread, one after another, through the empty corridors. That section had clearly already been checked, and the SWAT and bomb-teams moved onto another.

She passed along by the tape, not trying to enter, and limped to the biggest part of the terminal, where the majority of people stayed. Most of them were caught here since yesterday, the hall had that slight touch of emergency camping – a mixture of depressed waiting and annoyance. Bored children, distraught mothers, groups of tourists busy with their phones or watching movies on the big screens, eating, or sleeping… and there she was. Natalie L. Johnstone was at the far end, near the offices.

Hardison's description of Natalie's clothes was, surprisingly, pretty accurate. Her comfortable dark brown trousers with matching jacket certainly helped in this overnight stay at the airport. No high heels, nothing tight. Her pale green blouse and a vest under the jacket were expensive, yet ornaments on the vest, some tribal art in leather, showed her taste.

Her posture told Sophie much more. She sat with the two thugs, while she read some magazine, yet her eyes constantly checked people around her, glazed with fear and hope in equal parts.

Sophie remembered the grey suits that chased them here yesterday; these two were a part of that group. The thugs were relaxed; they watched the movie on the screen above people's heads. The small group looked as it was supposed to look – a scared mother who was waiting for the news of her kidnapped children, with business associates who were stuck there with her – wanting to leave, but knowing it wouldn't be appropriate.

She limped closer, peeking into trash cans along her way. Nobody paid any attention to her, except those who were too near; they moved away from her. She talked to herself quietly, a soft murmur that grew stronger when she reached Natalie and the thugs.

"The end is near," she croaked. It wasn't easy to hit an Arizonian version of Eliza Doolittle; she was afraid that her voice sounded too Ozark, but the sheer unpleasantness of that sound stirred Natalie, just as she hoped it would. Natalie raised her eyes to her and Sophie gave her time to take in her looks. _There_. Her eyes widened when she noticed her own, classy, dark blue mantle.

"The eeend is near," Sophie pointed one finger in the sky, catching her gaze. She knew intensity – her own eyes, she knew it also, captured her mark's attention. Natalie blinked a few times, confused by the calm, attentive eyes that stared directly into hers.

Sophie broke that connection first and limped a few steps aside, closer to the thugs. She let out a mixture of chuckle and cough and they shooed her away. _Back to Natalie_. "I'm goin', I'm goin', ain't have to be rude! Ya'll burn in hell, bastards!"

She stumbled one step. "You, nice lady," she purred now, her voice even more disgusting. "Have you a quarter?"

Natalie stood frozen; Sophie could see her frantic thinking, a hope that this was _something_, and fear that she was just imagining things. "I'll buy me some tea, not beer," she said and her hand groped Natalie's for one moment. She almost jerked her hand away, but Sophie held it. Her eyes, still calm, bore into the young woman.

"Go away!" a nudge in her back came right on time. She chuckled again and let her go, limping away quickly. "I'll be back!" she cackled over her shoulder.

Thugs returned to their place, darting mad glares at her. But Natalie stood lost, clutching her hand, and a Hello Kitty hair pin Sophie put on her palm.

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Nate parked his Beetle a hundred yards from the main entrance of Signia Inc. The sand whipped at the windshield, but it was quiet inside. He put his headset back, and the cacophony again roared in his ear. But only one voice, Eliot's. Nate stayed silent, taking his time to observe the building, and only listened.

"…and so Snow White ended with a bounty on her head, chased by the hunter, and after many, many days running through the woods, she discovered a house-"

"But the hunter came later!" one upset small voice said.

"Who cares? She discovered a house. And what should smart and beautiful Princesses do when approaching an unknown house? They examine the perimeter first. Remember that – never, ever enter any strange houses before you make sure it's safe. Not even cars, vans, pumpkins, chariots, or anything else. The situation was dire because that was the only reason she stayed even after she found out that there were seven beds. Without any background checks, you _do not_ stay in a house with seven beds, okay?"

"Okay," double worried whispers responded.

"If you have to enter a house, make sure you leave no traces behind – when owners return and surprise you, and you don't have time to clean up after yourself before escape-"

"But she didn't escape! You're doing it wrong!"

"Okay, okay, she didn't. She stayed. What was very stup… never mind. Anyway, where would you hide if you were Snow White and the seven dwarfs were coming home?"

"Under the bed?"

"Not good enough, it's the first place everybody searches. When we get your mother back, we shall all sit and find, or make, a place where you will be safe from any danger. And it will have a phone for calling 911 – what would Snow White do if she had a phone when her stepmother showed up on her doorstep with apples? Call 911 and report an armed intrud-"

Nate cleared his throat, then remembered he wouldn't hear him. "Eliot," he said. "Sorry to interrupt your Disney Survival Course, but we have work to do."

"I see your dot at the Signia building. How will you get in?"

"Hardison gave me Herbert's phone number – I'll call him and tell him I'm from Corso Games, and I'm using this storm to talk to him without being noticed. He will run to open that door for me. But I'll have to cut this call – no headset, no conversations that could be tracked. I'll hit speed dial after I plant the initial hook, and tell Hardison to send me something – I don't know what yet, so be prepared. Hardison, you there?"

"Yeah, listening. I'm five minutes from the house, I'll be ready when you call. Tom Baker is added to Corso games Art department."

"Parker?"

"Stopping in the street of the fourth target."

"I still don't like this," Eliot said.

"It's just Herbert. Start worrying when we reach Campbell." He ended the call then; he already knew what they would tell him.

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Finally, there was a light on in the house. Parker rang the doorbell, put her most innocent smile upon her face, and flashed it to the middle-aged, tired looking woman that opened the door.

"Good day, Mrs. Howell," she said. "So sorry to bother you, but if I'm not mistaken, you have worked for Signia Inc.? I'm preparing to start working there myself, so I talked with a few people that will be my coworkers – one of them gave me your name and sent me to talk to you, saying you would be the best to tell me all about your experiences." She finished her recitation, smiled once more, and waited.

"Is that so?" Mrs. Howell's eyes lay upon her, disturbingly sharp. "Who gave you my name?"

"Natalie Johnstone." Well, it was risky, but she was the only one Parker knew still worked for Signia.

Mrs. Howell huffed out a breath. "She is still working for them? I've told her…" She checked the street behind Parker's back, and dragged her in.

Parker stood in the hallway. The door locked behind her but that didn't worry her. She eyed the woman, refusing to go deeper in the house.

"She is in trouble," she said. "And I'm not going to work for Signia, I'm trying to help her. I need you to tell me everything you know. I know about your confidentiality contract, and I guarantee you that nobody will find out it was you who-"

"He will find out," the woman stopped her. "The last man who tried to go public ended in a Suriname swamp. But I'll tell you, I owe Natalie that much."

"You can give us something we can use against Campbell?"

Even before the woman said anything, Parker saw a surprise in her eyes.

"Campbell? Why would you need something against that louse? He isn't important. It's Herbert you're after."

Parker pulled her phone out, a frozen curse stopping on her lips, and hit the speed dial.

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It took only four minutes in the airport toilet to transform a homeless drunk into The Sophie Devereaux again; high heels, impeccable suit and make up just added a glow to her – it was attitude that mattered, not the clothes.

She sailed directly to Natalie Johnstone, and stood in front of her, observing her.

"My, my," she sang. "Isn't that lovely hair?"

Natalie raised her eyes to her – and met the same eyes that bore at hers just a few minutes ago. Sophie flashed a dazzling smile at her, and took one of the wallets she snatched before, ignoring the young woman's sudden stupor. She pulled out a credit card and gave it to her. "My name is Valéry Jenkins, executive manager at L'Oreal. Is it your natural color, dear?"

"W…well, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Two of my recent associates have the same nuance, but their hair is shorter. We are looking for exactly this length and color for our next campaign. Would you mind talking to me for a minute?"

Natalie regained her composure pretty quickly – a careful alertness in her eyes gave nothing away to the thugs when she glanced at them. "I'm with those gentlemen…"

"Who surely don't want to listen all about hair, right?" Sophie now smiled at them. "We'll sit there, a few steps away, if you don't mind?"

There wasn't much they could do, except to forbid that they talk, and drawing that kind of attention to them was too much, compared to letting Natalie speak with her for a minute. Sophie knew how they thought, and their nodding wasn't a surprise at all.

She chose two empty chairs on the exact edge of their hearing.

"First of all - why are they letting us speak in private?" she lowered her voice and pulled three magazines from her bag.

"Because they know they are safe. I didn't tell anything to the cops, why should I tell something to an unknown woman?" Natalie reached for her hand, a gesture too desperate, a question forming on her lips – but Sophie pushed the magazine in her hand instead.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, pointing at one picture, randomly chosen.

"Because they said they got the girls back, they showed me a picture of destroyed white van in a desert. If I said anything to cops, they would, would… hurt them," desperation crept in her eyes. "And now you showed me their hair pin. Who are you? Police? Where are my children?!"

"Not police. We are with that nice young man you gave the girls to – we left that white van and escaped with them. They are safe, they are with us, and we're working on getting you out of this." Sophie reached with her hand and touched her red hair, then pointed at the picture and raised one half of her own locks. Natalie managed a smile and nod.

"Take a deep breath, darling," she said softly. "We will have a few minutes. Tell me what's going on. From the beginning."

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"Hardison, your Herbert files are on the screen," Eliot said when the laptop pinged, and clinic reports started to roll on, one over another.

"Good, see if there's something important, I'm a minute away. Just don't delete anything, okay?'"

"You're hilarious," he said. The files stopped jumping up – it was more than thirty of them. "Girls, take the monkey and the panda back to the room and put them to sleep. I have to work here, we'll continue with Snow White later." He brought the chair closer, and clicked on the first documents. "Hardison, that battery charger thingie you have for laptops – can you plug an oven in it, to give it power?"

"What?! No Eliot, you can't plug an oven into my battery."

"You're supposed to be a tech wizard. It's tech. Do your thing. I need an oven."

"My brain just started to hurt on a molecular level. Stop talking, just stop."

Eliot hid the smirk; Hardison's voice was followed by louder wind, he was obviously running to the house. He could leave the documents to him, but he had nothing more important to do now, so he continued to scroll down, searching for something that might draw his attention. All of them were just usual reports from their sessions, with lots of unfamiliar jargon and abbreviations. It took him another minute until he reached a document that looked like a summary covering a certain time period. He started reading, slower and slower as the words untangled before his eyes.

And his blood slowly went cold.

"Hardison, call Nate," he breathed. His own voice sounded strained to him. "Tell him to get out of Signia, _now_."

"Why? You found something? I'm calling from my other phone… it's busy."

A click interrupted him, but it was Parker's hurried whisper that rushed in. "Nate, it's not Campbell! It's Herbert Kien-Quaney, you can't go to him-"

"Too late, Parker, he is already in," Eliot said. "Come back here. We're trying to call him and-"

"Shut up, all of you, I'm trying to-" Hardison stopped. "Maybe he's calling us and that's why his line is busy, he said he would call me to-"

Yeah, a click on their line showed that Nate had joined the conference call again. But it wasn't Nate's voice. It was a foreign, guttural accent that took Eliot's breath away.

"May I speak with Eliot Spencer, please?" The pleasant voice said.

That was it. Even not knowing that Herbert was behind all this, Nate would find a way to turn the tables – he would simply adjust his approach and try something else. Eliot had seen him do that hundreds of times. Herbert would dance as Nate played in a matter of minutes. But de Bruin was there, and he had seen Nate in his warehouse, he knew he was with them. One glance was enough to destroy everything that Nate might've tried.

Hardison and Parker kept silent, they even lowered the storm sounds.

Eliot let the three seconds of silence pass. "What do you want, de Bruin?" he said.

"You have the girls. We have your man. We want the girls back."

He turned in the chair and looked at the open door of the pink room. The monkey was chasing the panda around their beds.

He was ready to buy Sophie's life. And now he had Nate's life to bargain. _What are you going to sell now? Or do now_?

"I want to speak with him."

"No. Stay by the phone - we shall call you again and tell you a place and time for the exchange."

The call ended, Nate's line was cut off.

Nobody said a word for a few moments, until Hardison spoke. "Yeah, you can talk now, he is off."

"What now?" Parker whispered. "We can't buy Nate with the girls!"

"No, Parker," Eliot said. He stared at the wall now, the weight on his shoulders too heavy to look at the girls again. "No, we can't." He heard the slam of a car door, and her starting the engine. "We don't buy things, remember? We are the thieves."

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

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"Yes, I would certainly like to speak with someone from Corso Games, Mr. Tom Baker. I'll send my men to escort you through the building."

Two thugs – dressed in grey business suits, though clearly only hired muscles – appeared at the front gate not even a minute after Nate ended his call. Luckily, they weren't the same men he had seen at the airport when they were chased. He followed them, taking in all cameras, all sensors along the way, and counted the other muscle they met. He saw only two normal workers – one woman and one guy in jeans with a cup of coffee in his hands, and still half asleep.

Strange, but all of the surveillance equipment was turned inwards. Only two cameras focused upon the entrance, and neither one regarding anything around the building.

Herbert Kien-Quaney III waited for them at the entrance of a huge hall, dressed as a simple worker in jeans and plaid shirt. He was equally as young as he majority of his employees, fairly skinny, with a pile of ruffled dark hair that was long overdue a date with some scissors; it fell over his ears and eyes. "Welcome, Tom Baker. I presume this is an unofficial visit, if I read your 'I'd like to speak with you in private' words correctly?" he greeted him with a firm handshake, with the smile of a man who was not only a morning person, but who also adored that lousy time of day.

"Yeah, I'm currently having second thoughts about my career, and I have a few ideas I'd like to share with you; this sand storm seems to present the perfect time for this visit. No one from Corso Games will even know I was here."

Herbert read his words correctly. "Yeah, we'll keep this off the record, of course. Come with me."

He led him into the hall – the thugs followed.

"And here is where the magic happens," Herbert waved his hand over the expansive, beautiful hall. It was full of cubicles, but they were the size of a small room, cozy, decorated in warm colors, with massage chairs and large leafy plants. "My Art Department. I bet you don't have anything like this."

"We certainly don't. We have simple offices."

"Follow me." Herbert led the way up the stairs to the platform at first story height and into the office with similar glass walls.

He overlooked all the cubicles and they were open and exposed to his sight; a huge screen on his wall showed all computer screens in detail.

"I work among my people, as one of them," Herbert noticed his glances towards the screen. "This way I'm part of the team, I am actively in the middle of the game-making process. It means a lot when you cut out the middle men, when you're right there where you need to be."

Maybe from his part – but Nate couldn't help but wonder what his employees really thought about his constant peeking over their shoulders. The very thought made him claustrophobic. The hall was full of glass, light and open, the walls of all the cubicles were transparent too, but the impression took root. For a brief moment, the shiny hall was nothing more than a nineteenth century factory filled with steam and no air to breathe. He took one step closer to the screens, glancing over the presentation of each employee's monitors; at the bottom of every one, he read statistics and diagrams – time spent on working on programs, productivity, pauses, even their speed of typing.

Control. This man was a control freak, and boy, he knew how to recognize one. His own control issues were nothing compared to this. And now the entire picture spread across the web felt as it truly was – Herbert wasn't spending time with his people because he liked it – he just couldn't let them go, couldn't stop pushing himself into every segment of their lives.

There were thirty-nine cubicles, and all of them were busy, except one. Phoenix was on its knees, even ambulances trudged painfully slow through the storm, but all of his workers came to work today. It wasn't devotion. It was fear.

Nate felt the phone in his pocket. He couldn't risk calling the team, telling them that Herbert was their real mark here, not Campbell. It had to wait.

He sat in the chair, watching the young CEO who pulled out a bottle with two glasses while pressing keys on his computer. He was around the same age as Lieutenant Schafer – under thirty for sure. But while Schafer's eyes were calm and attentive; Herbert's were hungry and bright. He had a barely-visible twitch to his every move – the kind of manic energy Parker had displayed sometimes in their early days. In someone this successful it could pass for leader strength qualities – always wide awake, ready to fight all odds, and jump on every opportunity – for the first five minutes. After that time, it felt like being under the constant attack of an intensive freak, with burning eyes.

The same burning eyes now turned towards him. Herbert gave him a glass of amber nectar and settled in his chair; a rotating office chair that made a small squeaky sound every time he moved. His face still wore a warm smile, but there was a disturbing, unpleasant depth behind his eyes.

"I have files on every employee of Corso Games." Even his voice changed, becoming dry. "Why only now do I find out about some Tom Baker, when he appeared at my door?"

Nate sipped from his glass; scotch was ancient and rich, and it settled perfectly on his wide-awake nerves. "For the same reason you will hear a few things for the first time now, though you obviously think you know everything about Corso Games."

"How long have you worked in their Art Department?"

Being crippled throughout this entire job now took on completely different meaning. In every other job they would never consider not studying all the important facts about his ID. He had no idea what exactly Hardison had put in his file.

"Don't trust everything you read on their web-site. I don't really work there. I'm a freelancer;" he paused, sipping his drink for effect, and said, "That means I've never signed their confidentiality contract."

Herbert's eyes lit from inside.

"You're keeping an eye on Corso Games," Nate continued. "and we are keeping our eye on you. That's normal in business. It is also normal that we know about your green sheep flying helicopters, shooting wolves on the ground. Though, tell me one thing… is it normal that you don't know anything about our game?"

"Which one?" A slight boredom slid into Herbert's voice. "Jumping vegetables, or shooting bottles?"

Nate smiled. He leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. "Wolves with rocket launchers, shooting at sheep flying in helicopters." Hardison would kill him if he had to make a fake game to back up his words – but at this stage mere rumor would be sufficient.

Herbert froze. His left eyelid started to twitch, a tic glaringly visible on his frozen face. It wasn't only one, the color drained from his face; it looked like his life faded away into the gutter.

Two of the thugs stepped closer, tension on their faces rising with every second of silence.

"It's…it's…" Herbert's face moved – he bared his teeth and his hand threw the bottle into the wall. Nate spared a glance at the huge screen. No one in the cubicles as much as raised their heads to see what the bang was, even the speed of their typing wasn't disturbed.

You might expect a four year old to throw things when angry, not the CEO of a huge firm.

"May I ask you to wait a minute out front please?" One thug hurried to his side, making small nudging moves at him; the other was quickly removing things from Herbert's desk.

"Sure, no problem," he got up and left; the glass windows polarized and darkened, disabling his vision of inside. Being a thug at Signia Inc. obviously included calming down their boss' tantrums. Nate elbowed the railing overlooking the hall, studying all entrances. The howling from the office behind his back was almost completely muted, but he could still catch echoes of a commotion inside. Now would be a good time to tell the team what a nice little freak they were dealing with, but before he reached for his phone, another elbow rested on the railing just a few inches from his.

He slowly turned his head sideways, to find a man leaning on the railing.

"Imagine office meetings when sales aren't going well," de Bruin said. The patch on his cheek wasn't an amateur improvisation, and Nate's brain immediately jumped into searching each and every Phoenix hospital to see which ID he used.

He glanced behind him, trying to hide the sinking feeling in his gut. Three thugs from the house across from Natalie's were standing behind them: ready and waiting.

"Let's go," de Bruin nodded his head towards the office.

Making a scene in front of all the employees seemed pointless. Not a single head would rise to see it anyway. Nate pushed his hands into his pockets, pushing the phone deeper, and followed them.

His pathetic attempt to keep the phone ended after only two steps back inside the office; his phone, his wallet, his headset, everything was gone in a thorough search.

"What are you doing?" Herbert spat at de Bruin, almost literally – there was saliva in the corners of his mouth and Nate half expected one of the thugs to gently wipe their boss' face.

"Finishing the job you're paying me for," de Bruin sat and motioned to the thugs to push Nate in the other chair. He inspected his phone and, Nate suspected, the list of calls. "This man works for Eliot Spencer and his woman, and we'll have your girls back. Now shut up while I make a call."

Nate listened to the few short sentences de Bruin said to Eliot, but his mind whirled with this new set of possibilities that just blossomed in front of his eyes. De Bruin, just as his thug had, had heard about Eliot Spencer, and their encounter in the warehouse showed him and only him, not some irrelevant guy in a suit who entered the scene when all was finished. He saw Eliot hugging Sophie, that desperate embrace – in de Bruin's mind, Sophie was _his_.

Damn, Sophie was right, he realized watching de Bruin talking; no micro expressions, nothing was showing on that man's face. He and Herbert were two opposite poles; one deranged, one totally muted. How the hell he was supposed to con both of them at the same time, so different? He was stuck with a several self-excluding approaches, and his brain overheated.

"You want to exchange _me_ for the girls?" he asked when de Bruin ended the conversation, giving just a slight accent on the most important word. He let one corner of his mouth rise in a smirk. "What's in that for me?"

Yes, that provoked a reaction; one of de Bruin's eyebrow rose.

"Why do you think I came here in the first place? You're not the only players in this game – but trust me, we both are the ones who are losing." He leaned a little toward de Bruin – he was his main target now, Herbert would wait for now. "Listen to me very carefully," he lowered his voice. "You won't get the girls with this bullshit. And I will lose them too. Nobody wins. He will simply go to someone else, and we both know who that is."

"Corso Games," Herbert whispered. "They can't have Natalie, I would rather kill her before -"

Cutting him off, Nate continued, "I'm not working for Spencer; I'm using him to get what I need – _by_ working for him. I also don't work for Corso Games – except _I am_ working for them – to get what I need. It's complicated. I want money, I have Japanese buyers. But I don't really care where I get that money from – it can be you. Judging by this situation, it will almost certainly be you."

"Why do you think we won't simply kill you now?"

"Because I have something that nobody else has, and I know that you want that desperately." He looked in de Bruin's eyes directly, before lowering his gaze to the bandage on his cheek. "I was there, remember? I saw what he did."

De Bruin tilted his head.

"I have Eliot Spencer," Nate said. "And I can deliver him into your hands. For a price."

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"Oh, man, this is nasty," Hardison finally said when he closed Herbert's medical files. He let out a muttered curse with every new diagnosis the files revealed. Eliot stopped counting after the sixth. "Nasty as in drug me senseless and tie my ass in a rubber room nasty. Nasty as in I will kill you if your sheep don't jump as high as I wanted. Nasty as paranoid delusional jerk dipped in psychosis and wrapped into paranoia again, and let to dry out in the gentle breeze of sociopath -"

"Alright!" Eliot stopped his restless pacing to and fro. "I got it. It's nasty. But his psychiatrist said it's kept under control with drugs."

"Yep, if you take them. Remember two dead in Suriname? Remember his thugs shooting at the van with two kids in it? A freaking torturer and the dead guy below our feet? Does that sound like it's 'kept under control'? If it sounds like that to you, I really don't want to see what out of control looks like to you. And now he has Nate. He will skin him alive and use his skin for the collector's edition of his damn game!"

A small frightened meep came from behind one chair, and Eliot quickly turned towards it. Hardison had enough decency to twitch.

"Manny?" Nope, she would raise her eyes to him if he had guessed correctly. "Mickey, no sneaking around. Let's go to your room, you have a movie to watch." He picked her up and brought her back to the other twin who was still there. "And I have another idea," he went on when he put her on her bed. He quickly rummaged through the cupboards until he found tiny socks, all colors and motives. Taking off her sneaker and her sock, he put one sock with smiling suns. Only one. The other was still similar to Manny's, both pairs having apples and peaches. Now he only needed to pull her legging a little, and check the smiling suns sock, and know it was Mickey.

_Perfect, one problem solved_. This day already looked much brighter. He smiled at the girls, trying to hide his bitterness. "Watch the movie and keep quiet, we're working there, just like your mommy works here when she's at home."

"Are evil kitties going to take mommy's skin off?" Mickey whispered. _Damn you, Hardison_.

"Of course not – Hardison was talking about a movie. You know movies ain't real? El-e-fants don't really talk, right?"

"They _don't_?"

Even better. _Now tell them that Santa isn't real_. "He was joking," he said. "We'll bring your mommy home. Watch the movie."

"Today?" they both asked with the same hope, their small faces turned upwards to him like two sunflowers bathing in the sun.

"Yeah, today," he said the exact same thing he had inwardly bitched out Hardison about while they drove here. And he ran away after that, leaving them alone.

"Watch your damn tongue," he hissed at the hacker, and regretted it instantly. Bitching was the last thing they needed right now.

"Everything is going south," Parker's whisper came before Hardison could answer. There was silence around her.

"Where are you?"

"In the kitchen, I just got in."

"Well, come here!" he snarled.

"Stop with that crap," Hardison said. "Go punch something if you have to, or better yet, call Sophie and tell her."

Shit, yes, they had to tell her that Nate had been snatched by a torturer who already killed someone in this fuckup. "No, not yet. Let her do her job first, she will call us after she talked with Natalie. It's better for…for her."

"She'll be pissed off."

"Yeah, probably, but better to be pissed off because half an hour delay, then spend that same half an hour scared to death." Eliot didn't wait for Hardison's response, he went to the bathroom.

Waiting for de Bruin's call was maddening. Hardison at least had his blinking screens to divert his attention and keep him occupied. He could only pace all over the room, what wasn't such a bright idea; slamming into furniture multiplying before his eyes wouldn't help his leg wound heal. Nor would it calm his fretting nerves. Vomiting had stopped this morning, but now he felt a twitch in his stomach again. His concussed brain obviously couldn't take this psychomotor agitation well, and it sent all his inner signals to stop him.

And this shit had only just started.

He let cold water pour over his hands until his fingers numbed, then washed his face.

He had gotten so used to the storm that when he closed the water off, he heard silence, in spite of the constant roar in the background. And how badly he really needed that silence now. He had spent too much time with all of them around him, not to mention twin never-stopping girls – time to think, time to recharge his batteries seemed to be scarce, and could only be measured in minutes.

Panic was simmering too close to the surface now, and with that the first sign of self-doubt. If they saw it, everything would go straight to hell. He could always show them his anger, nervousness, even worry, but fear? Never. That would shake the very foundation of this protecting business; make them question everything, make them think twice and make mistakes. Just like in Washington when he told Hardison directly that he wasn't scared. If Hardison saw the fear in his eyes, he would have never moved, and that damn flu would be spreading across the country by now.

As long as they all thought he was charging into guys with guns for the sheer thrill of it, they would remain calm and be able to do their jobs. And that meant putting a heavy mask back on, mute the fear, and continue.

De Bruin had said he would call in half an hour. Fifteen minutes had already passed. He had enough time to prepare himself for whatever he might have to do: check the bandages and see if there was more bleeding, wrap all the wounds again with a few more layers, just for protection. And most of all, feed his brain with silence while it lasted.

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Sophie pressed speed dial when the thug closest returned to his seat, glancing just occasionally at the two women chatting about hair color. Sophie made sure that Natalie's back was turned to both of her guards; they couldn't see her facial expressions and they saw only Sophie's face, turned to them. She smiled constantly, even when Natalie's words made her cringe inside.

"We all knew he had problems, and we accepted the fact he was weirdo – but it wasn't like this in the beginning." Natalie's hurried whisper was loud enough to be caught with her headset; Sophie knew the team was listening. They were silent, all of them. "I started in Signia five years ago, so I witnessed his gradual degradation. He started with accusations. He would fire people for nothing then panic about secrets they might reveal, then hire them again for double pay, but threaten them for their silence. We discovered bugs on our tables; strange people were following us home, smiling at our families. He armed his security, and slowly replaced all the old guys, bringing in new henchmen. Very soon he will have more security than employees."

Sophie laughed; a high, cheerful sound that echoed around them. Natalie stopped, confused, but Sophie patted her arm and pointed at the magazine. "Remember, I'm trying to convince you to be our hair model. I'll laugh more. They are watching us, and if they see me laughing, they won't suspect you're talking about Signia. Go on."

"We are paid an insane amount of money. People are willing to put up with a crazy control freak if they can pay for their kids' college. You can swallow everything. Even if you think about leaving, you say to yourself: just one month, it's not that bad, just one more, one more… and it continues, and you keep finding excuses, until you realize you can't get out – that you aren't allowed to get out."

"You couldn't ask for any legal help?"

"He wasn't doing anything illegal, that's the problem. The security is there for security – they are armed because they protect us. We have benefits that other people can only dream of – and we couldn't prove any of the surveillance, monitoring, spying and threats."

"Nate, are you hearing all this?" Sophie asked. In her ear, Hardison cleared his throat.

"He's talking with someone, can't have his headset on now. I'm recording this, he'll have it. Continue."

"Why are you here, Natalie? Why are you being taken to Suriname?"

"I'm very good at my job, you know. I made a crucial segment of the game – if I leave, they would be severely crippled, there's no way they could find someone to finish everything on time. The helicopter stuff – I designed all the flight sequences. Corso Games approached me a few weeks ago, with an offer. They are a normal business; they don't know any of this. And they didn't know what reaction it would provoke. He went nuts when he found out. When I said I want to quit, he wouldn't let me – he threatened me using the girls, then burst into tears, promised more money, then said he would kill me if I accepted their offer. He was totally freaked out. Finally, he said – when he calmed down – that he would press charges against me, and prove I took Signia's secrets to their competitors. And it is in my contract, it can be read like that. I bowed my head and complied."

"But…?"

"But after that, it became unbearable, they were constantly around me, I couldn't breathe – and he became even more suspicious. Two days ago, I received a note that I'm being moved to the Suriname department. I got the hundred percent raise – show _that_ to someone at court and prove you're bullied. The girls could be with me all the time during the work and we would get one of Signia's houses to stay in. More importantly, I would be far away from his eyes."

Sophie sighed, then quickly smiled again. "But…?"

"I did some research, found out two men had died in accidents there. Both of them were in my position prior to me, they had been moved for the same reasons. And he tracked my searches, he knew I knew. After that, everything changed quickly - he sent his men to pack for me – he said that they will go with me, especially to help me with the girls, for their protection. He is using them as a lever. He knows he has me in his grasp as long as he threatens my children. The moment I leave US soil, I'm dead. He will let me finish my job until the game hits the market, and then I will disappear in the swamp."

"But we have them now, they are safe with us." This smile Sophie didn't have to fake. "Nothing is stopping us from taking you away from those thugs as well."

"Erm, Sophie…" Hardison said. "According to the recent change in situation, let's not make any premature moves. Especially not dealing with those thugs without the hitter nearby, please. The planes are still grounded, she's not going anywhere. It's better that Herbert thinks the airport part of all this is still under his control. You stay there and keep an eye on her and the thugs, just not too close all the time. Okay?"

"Okay, but I can… oh, well, you're right." She turned to Natalie again. "My friends say it's better to wait here, to lull Herbert in a false sense of security. You agree?"

"Whatever you say. Just keep the girls safe. I'm not important."

"Yes, you are. Herbert knows the only way to make you obedient is by having the girls back, and he is trying to get them. Without them, he has nothing to blackmail you with. They even lied by saying they had gotten them back, so you won't say a word to the cops. Continue with their game. Sit here, look miserable, and wait. We'll finish him."

Natalie raised her eyes to her, hope and doubt whirled together in them. "Who are you, people?" she whispered.

Sophie sent another dazzling smile. "Remember Sleeping Beauty, darling?" She reached and touched her red locks. "Think of this airport as your castle – we will put you into your sleep, hibernate you here, while we deal with him. We are your good fairies – and we will remove the curse and set you free."

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"Stop sulking and come out here!" Hardison called him right after he was done with the last layer of the final tight bandage over and around his shoulder and back, when the accumulated pain of every movement washed over his forehead with a cold sweat. Eliot closed his mouth firmly over a snappish response, instead muttering one 'Coming', and put his shirt on. Damn, he was a mess; when he reached for his jacket, he saw three hands and six jackets. The merging of pictures into only one left him dizzy. He grabbed the jacket with a move that was more uncontrolled than he would've liked – but the jacket felt wrong under his fingers. He focused his vision through the bolts of headache, and recognized an expensive, rich texture of a black suit jacket. It was de Bruin's. Manny had been wrapped up in two jackets when Sophie brought her out of that warehouse, he recalled. He threw that thing in the corner, resisting the urge to wash his hands, and took his own jacket.

_Calm the fuck down, hide everything, don't snap_. Sounded easy enough.

He took a deep breath, and returned to the bedroom.

Parker was there, sitting on Hardison's table with both feet up, resting her chin on her knees.

"My employee said that Campbell was a dishonest louse, but he was okay, not dangerous," the thief said. "Herbert is insane – but you already found that out. She was lucky 'cause she was able to get out. Apparently, a game she was working on stopped making profit, and she couldn't switch to another one. They are all highly specialized in only one thing, that's why she was let go. They are still monitoring her. Herbert is convinced that all his employees work against him, and want to sell his secrets. He hadn't used only an armed army in the building, he also had several Private Investigator Agencies who were spying on his people for months after they quit."

Yeah, that was similar with Natalie's version of it. "In short, he's a paranoid psychopath?" Eliot surmised.

"A highly intelligent paranoid psychopath," Hardison nodded. "Nate will have problems pulling his strings – they are all loose, and wavering around him in the wind."

Parker shifted uncomfortably. "What if…" she bit her lip and hugged her shins tighter. "Maybe we'll only be able to get Nate out, maybe we'll have to leave Natalie Johnstone... what if they manage to take her away, and kill her?"

"Stop, Parker," Eliot growled. _No snapping_ wasn't so easy to maintain. "Sophie is keeping an eye on her."

"No, seriously. What shall we do with the girls then? Can we keep them?"

He looked at her, not sure whether he should feel rage or exasperation; this wasn't the time for crazy, for crying out loud. Even totally crazy Parker from the first days wouldn't taser Natalie Johnstone while chuckling maniacally, just because she thought it would be fun to keep the kids and play with them; her deterioration into that mode surely wasn't something they needed now.

She raised her eyes at him and her brow furrowed – for one moment raw hurt flashed in her eyes; she knew what he was thinking.

Hardison was on his feet in a second, wrapping his arms around her. "No, momma, that ain't happening. We won't let anything happen to her. Besides, the girls wouldn't go into the system, they have a father. Probably even more relatives around. And if – but only if – something unpredicted happens, yes, we'll keep them. They'll be well taken care of, and they will have family."

Well, crap. Hardison got it right. He saw her real fear, while he was only being a jerk. He really had to remind himself that forbidding himself to snap should also cover his thoughts. With these people, thoughts were equally eloquent as spoken words, and sometimes they whipped harder. _And you can't apologize for something you didn't even say_.

Maybe that was one more thing he had to learn. He stood there watching their embrace; her face was buried in Hardison's shoulder and she wasn't watching him anymore.

"Parker," he called her.

"T's okay," she mumbled, her head still lowered. "Let's concentrate on business."

"Parker," he said again. She raised her eyes to him, still too dark.

He relaxed his jaw, and forced the words out. "I'm sorry." And it was easier than he thought it would be.

Surprise in her eyes just added to his shame – but her smile blossomed in a second. "I said it was okay," she said. "It is."

Hardison glanced at him over his shoulder; he had no idea what just happened but obviously decided not to ask.

"If you're finished with that creepy whatever-it-was, sit, both of you," the hacker said, sitting back on his chair before the desk. "Their call is late."

Parker unwrapped herself and jumped on the floor, pulling a chair for herself. "Two minutes late, to be precise."

Eliot decided to sit on the edge of the bed – that way he wouldn't be tempted to rest his back against the wooden chair. "Can you go through Signia's security again? I have to see all the details this time."

"Nope." Hardison crossed his arms and leaned back, away from his keyboard.

"Don't tell me your internet died again!"

"It's something else," Hardison said. "We have a heavily secured building with an unknown number of thugs inside. We don't have a mastermind, and our hitter is incapacitated. You can't slide through corridors knocking them out as they come at you. Maybe you can – okay, if needed, you could – but I won't take responsibility for my side of job."

"What?"

"I can't hack your way in, sitting in a stolen car in the middle of a sand storm, catching some weak Wi-Fi, Eliot. Not when Nate's, and your lives are at stake. I won't look you in the eye and tell you I'll be able to pull you out, or shut down the elevators, or _anything, _because my internet might die at any second. I can't guarantee that. Do you understand that?"

He watched Hardison's face – one nuance lighter than usual - set into a bitter determination.

"So you're telling me to do nothing?"

"I'm telling you what we can expect. Our plan has to be made considering that, not in spite of that. A huge difference. One that decides lives."

"Our plan," Parker said slowly, "has to wait, until we hear from de Bruin again. Before that, we can only speak about what ifs, and what's useless."

Eliot rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. "Did Nate speak with anyone about what he was planning to do?"

Hardison shrugged. "A white van variant – but we can dismiss that now. All possible cons are out of the question now. De Bruin saw us all in that warehouse, even Parker, hanging from the ceiling. We're burned. We have nothing."

"We have something." They both looked at Parker when she said that. "We have someone," she said. "Schafer. Nate wouldn't grab him if he wasn't planning to use him on something crucial."

"We are in Phoenix, Parker," Eliot sighed. "Schafer isn't Bonnano whom we could call to clean up after us and take our mark into custody with our evidence, no questions asked. The entire Phoenix police department is after us, remember?"

"Eliot is right in this, Parker," Hardison said. "He is useless to us – no, worse… he is a burden and trouble. We have to set him free somewhere far enough away. His head might be full of useful police information, but-"

Parker raised her hand to stop him. "Wait," her eyes glimmered for a second, and Eliot swallowed a snarl. One faux pas was enough for today. "Nate was wrong. We don't need the head of Prince Charming, no matter what's inside it. We need to see what's in his heart."

Eliot ran his hands through his hair; even Hardison blinked – his version of eye-rolling in exasperation.

"Don't you get it?" she watched them each in turn, perplexed. "I _learned_ that. It took me years, but now I know that's the only thing that matters: what's in a person's heart. It's always that and only that – with you, with marks, with clients. If you two can find out what's in that man's heart, we will know what to do next."

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Darkness was the worst. He could move, slightly, keep his tied wrists and ankles in constant motion, to avoid cramps and to avoid stiffening of his muscles. When the time came, he had to be prepared to act, to fight.

But, as a police officer, Schafer knew the exact percentage of successfully resolved kidnaping cases. The odds were against him.

His inner clock told him that he wasn't here more than a few hours, though it felt like days and days, full of fear and useless thoughts.

He stopped all movement when he heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs; the door opened and a dim light penetrated through the cloth covering his eyes.

This time, he decided to stay silent. It wasn't an easy thing to do, when hands pulled him up, cutting the ties that bound him to the radiator, and those around his ankles; he was pushed towards the door and forced to walk. Two men, he realized, counting their touches.

They climbed the stairs; that felt like a good sign. You don't keep someone in the basement alive, and then bring him up to kill him; it usually went the other way around.

Another good sign was the feel of a carpet under his feet. He was in a house or an office, not in some remote, deserted warehouse.

"Sit here and don't move," that terrifying husky voice was back. There was something familiar in it, as if he had heard it before.

The man made a mistake though; he cut the zip ties around his wrists, the last thing that kept him there.

Schafer pulled the cloth off his face – the room was in half-darkness so he wasn't blinded - and charged at the masked figure standing in front of him, with the full force of a young, trained cop. His opponent's left hand reached out, blocking his hit, then grabbed his throat and threw him across the room.

Schafer jumped to his feet instantly and charged again; the speed was crucial here, he had to break free before they pulled any weapons.

But this attempt went even worse. It seemed that the man blocked his hit with more ease, if possible. Not only blocked; he clutched his hand, turned it sideways, spinning him with it, and pushed him into the wooden chair in the middle of the room. And it was done with apparently no effort. With _one_ hand. He didn't even take a step toward him or aside.

"I hope we've now established that you can't fight your way out," a different voice came from the other side; soft and quiet.

"What do you want?" he snarled. _Time for talkin'_.

"To show you something." One of them turned the lights on.

He jumped up, he couldn't help himself.

The thing he thought was just a dark mass in the middle of the room – three feet from him – revealed itself as a bloody, clearly tortured dead body. He caught the scream in his throat in the last second.

A heavy hand on his shoulder pushed him back in the chair.

"Sit. Down." The voice wasn't husky anymore, it drawled in an ominous tone. Yes, he was certain now, he had definitely heard that voice before. Left handed, Southerner; Schafer repeated to himself, calming his shocked breathing, suppressing his fears.

He diverted his eyes from the gruesome heap, and glanced at both men, estimated their height. This shit was stepping into some serious psychotic waters; he couldn't remember ever touching on torturers in his previous cases. He had none that would search for payback.

"I don't know who you are and what you are doing, but I must warn you, and I already did, that kidnapping a police officer in Arizona results in the death penalty. You still have time to set me free."

"We brought you here to kill you, just as we killed this guy," the Southerner stated calmly. "No point in spreading blood across two rooms."

His heart sank deep, deep down, but thundered twice as fast. Fuck everything, he wouldn't show them fear.

"Well, good luck with that," his words sounded surprisingly calm. For a moment, they said nothing, just observed him almost as if waiting for something. "May I ask why you snatched me, of all people?" he continued. Talking was giving him time.

"We have the girls you are after." The taller, owner of the soft voice said. "Cute little things, don't ya think? We thought of selling them, but we might keep them."

_That_ froze the blood in his veins.

"No, not cute," the Southerner said, with something undecipherable in his voice. "Sexy is a much better word for that."

He jumped up with a snarl before he could think, and his hands almost reached the Southerner's throat. _Almost_. His hand was faster, and it clutched _his_ throat instead. "Gonna… kill…" he managed to force out before he ran out of air.

"Not now," the guy threw him back into the chair like a doll. "So, you would kill us? You, a cop? That's breaking the law. What happened to that 'take them into custody, run Miranda Rights', and all that crap?"

"Fuck you. I'll kill you before you touch them, you freaks. There's no hole deep enough for you to hide-"

"Okay, okay, enough!" The taller one waved impatiently. "We are losing time." He pulled the mask off his face. The Southerner did the same.

That was it, he _was_ dead. He knew what this meant – he saw their faces.

And now he knew who that guy was; he met him last night in the motel, he quarreled with that Smith guy about their date. That meant, also, that the girls had been probably in motel too, only a few steps away from him; the hot rage surged through him.

He tensed every muscle in his body, preparing for a fight for his life; they might kill him, but he will take at least one of them with him.

But they didn't make any move; they only exchanged glances over his head.

"Now, listen to me." The tall, black guy came forward and stood in front of him, blocking his view to the body. "Forget everything we just said. We won't kill you."

"What sort of fool do you take-"

"Shut up!" the Southerner cut him off. He came closer and held out his hand; Schafer stared at his own gun and badge on the man's palm. "Take 'em."

He did that, slowly; they even let him check if all bullets were in place. But he didn't, even for a second, think he would have time to point the gun at them. The Southerner was just one step away, and he saw his speed.

"You have two options now," the black guy said. "You can leave. We won't stop you, we're clearing out of here very soon."

"The second one?" he asked. He couldn't think of anything else to ask, his brain was still stupefied.

"The second one is to come upstairs with us, and find out everything about this mess you're in."

"Why are you giving me this choice?"

"Because we told you we would kill you, and you stayed calm. Then we said we'd keep the girls, and you went nuts. That's the difference: protecting yourself, and protecting someone else. That's why."

This was some kind of test, his slow brain finally processed. Instead of an answer, he waved his hand to the body.

"Not us. We'll tell you who did that." And there it was again, that undecipherable tone in the Southerners voice. He took time to feel it, to listen to that, until he recognized what that was – it was disgust.

He lowered his eyes to the gun and stared at it. A hand pulled him on his feet and pushed him out of the room, into some sort of lobby. The big stairs with white railing led to the upper story – at the other end was the main door.

"Choose now," the black guy said. He waved his head to the door, and to stairs.

He looked into their faces, into their eyes, studying and reading them, and they returned that gaze squarely – but without any warning, or any words spoken, they simply turned their backs to him, and went upstairs.

They left an armed cop behind their backs, the cop they'd kidnapped and held tied in the basement – and not even that Southerner could stop him at this distance before he shot them both.

He didn't raise his gun to their backs.

He _was_ free to go.

He glanced at the door once more and put the gun in his pocket.

The thing he read in their eyes was too familiar. Very well hidden, but not buried enough for him. It was fear.

He cursed himself silently, and climbed the stairs after them.

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	13. Chapter 13

TRTJ – Chapter 13.

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Lieutenant Schafer stopped before the door with his gun ready in his hand. He hesitated. He could still leave, and maybe he should've done so, immediately. Nobody knew where he was and nobody would look for him for at least six hours. This wasn't clever.

But through the door came the high pitched laughter of a small girl, and that decided it for him.

He opened the door and entered.

Both girls were there and they seemed unharmed, though different than on the pictures Natalie Johnstone provided. Their beautiful red curls were gone; two strange looking bulges on their heads took their place. Yet, his heart eased its frantic thumping a little. One of them stopped jumping on the bed and screamed when she saw him; she hurled herself behind the Southerner. The two men stood in front of the king-sized bed, guarding the girls. _From him_? With them a blonde girl, he remembered from the parking lot, was sitting on the table, watching him with narrowed eyes.

The Southerner slowly reached behind him, putting a reassuring hand on the girl hiding behind him. "Put that gun _down_." His low snarl sounded much more deadly now, than it had earlier in the basement.

"I have no time for games," he didn't move, nor lowered his hand. "I'll take the girls and leave. Whatever you're doing or wanted to show or tell me, you can do it back at the station."

The black guy didn't move, but the Southerner shrugged. "How?"

"What how?"

"How do you plan to take the girls away?" A meep came from behind his back, and a pair of eyes peered out. Two small hands clutched around his waist. "I don't want to go. Tell him to leave," one of the twins whispered.

Schafer glanced around the room. His chances weren't good. He was alone and he couldn't drag two screaming girls at the same time, while keeping them all under his aim: Let alone keeping the Southerner as far away as he could.

Now, the black guy _did_ move. He took three steps to the right, away from the bed and the Southerner. The blonde, with a strange smile, slowly slid off the table, also taking three small steps to the left. He wasn't entirely surrounded, yet, but the Southerner was still right in front of him, and he felt like a man caught in a dead car stuck on the railway tracks, waiting for a train to slam into him.

There was something utterly disturbing in that man's eyes, in the way he watched him.

"Okay." He lowered the gun. "I'll listen to you. But you've broken the law, and we _will_ return to that later." He put the gun in his pocket, and slowly, step by step, moved closer, towards a chair near the vanity unit.

The tension in the room dissipated and just then did he realize quite how tense it had really been - as if his lowering himself onto the chair changed something in the dynamics in the room. The three string–like creatures loosened their coils as if by command.

They were protecting the girls from _him_. And the gun. He blinked.

The blonde girl returned to her post on the table. She moved like a ballet dancer, he noticed. "What law did we break?" she asked.

"Assault, kidnapping a police officer-

Her eyes widened, her face softening into that of poor misguided innocence. "Oh, your Honor," she whispered. "I have no idea what you are talking about. This man collapsed in front of my eyes, my friend barely managed to stop his fall – it was awful, I was so scared!" She clutched her hands in a desperate gesture. He watched her, stupefied. "We couldn't call for help, there was no one there. We simply couldn't just leave him there in this awful storm; so we took him to our car. No hospitals nearby, we got lost, and he woke up and began to tremble in seizure," her voice trembled and she wiped her eyes. He almost felt the need to put his arm around her trembling shoulders. "The poor man should go to see his doctor, your Honor. He only calmed down when we darkened everything around him – I used my jacket to cover his eyes. Could it be a migraine, or epilepsy? I don't know – but he might hurt himself, we had to keep him still, his head was bouncing, argh," she yelped and took a shaky breath. "We put him into dark room and hurried to find some help, but before we could call anyone, he showed up at the door with crazy eyes and waving his _gun _around!" The last words were delivered with the heartbreaking sound of dismay.

She tilted her head. Her eyes smiled, almost as disturbing as the Southerner's were. "Good luck with your version."

"Reasonable doubt – the two most hated words in every policeman's life," he said. "But okay, that's how it happened, if you want and if it will help to speed this up. I want to know what the hell is going on here."

"Well…" The black guy cleared his throat. "You see, we are a group of travelling… lawyers. So we travelled, and travelled, and happened to be at the airport in Phoenix …"

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Herbert's thug brought in a new bottle. De Bruin's men set themselves up on watch outside the office, on the platform.

The two musclemen hovered over Nate with their arms crossed. He crossed his arms in return, and leant back in the chair.

The screens on the wall showed nothing new, yet he pretended to study all the small monitors and what each employee was working on, to ease their attention. He could only occasionally dart a look at Herbert and de Bruin, who had withdrawn into another office connected with this one. The same glass wall also divided that one and he could see, if not hear, their conversation.

The thugs didn't find Hardison's USB stick when they searched him for weapons, it was too small. Now would be the best time to plug it into Herbert's computer; he could see USB ports at the back of his monitor. Yet, his every move, even when he only reached for the bottle, was surveyed.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

No reaction. He poured whiskey into the glass and loosened his tie, taking an even more relaxed pose. Sooner or later they would ease their rigid stance.

Herbert was speaking with someone else now, striding the length of the office with a phone in his hand. The other hand gesticulated wildly; Sophie might have been able to read his moves and tell whether he was arguing with someone, or convincing someone, but he was on his own now; one thing for sure, he could tell that Herbert was far from happy.

He couldn't say he was exactly cheerful either. He refused to sink into real fear before he had again talked with Herbert and de Bruin; for now, he was just worried.

Sophie was at the airport, the three others were on their own now.

He tried to relax his grip on the whiskey glass, as if de Bruin's calm eyes, now resting on him through the glass wall, might notice how white his knuckles were. How false his relaxed posture was.

He did trust them, all, without reserve. Their months in Portland were slowly showing him that his decision was right, that they _could_ continue on their own. The whole Castleman case in Washington, when he sent them alone there, was one last and final test. Not only did they manage to bring back the diamonds, they saved the fucking world that same afternoon. They could do anything they wanted.

But a small gnawing fear, imbedded deep, deep down in his mind; in a part that never slept and never kept silent. The first time he sent them out alone, and they all almost died. The first time they did their collective jobs alone and Eliot caught two bullets. Two. In five years, three in total. If they were all there, all five of them, that might not have happened.

He didn't need that doubt now.

He had to believe they would read between his words, for his plan, and follow his lead or everything would go to hell in a handcart. This exchange, him for the girls, could be the best opportunity they had for now – an open invitation, safe passage through all this nasty security. They would be _led_ inside.

He put the glass down on Herbert's desk, and got up raising both hands to show the thugs he was just stretching his legs. He walked a few steps, waved again to de Bruin and Herbert, as if asking what was taking them so long, and returned to his glass. The thugs' eyes glued to his every move, lazy and careful.

The USB stick was in his palm.

Hardison had said he would have access to every file in Signia's directory via that thing; that meant all the security protocols and details, everything will open itself up under the hacker's fingers, and their coming here wouldn't be a deadly trap, with only one way out. They would dance through the obstacles with ease; at least he knew Parker would.

He tried to suppress a thought that he was guiding a severely wounded man with concussion into de Bruin's hands– no, no he wasn't. He was opening all the doors for Eliot Spencer to enter, deep into enemy territory, to be unleashed there in full force. Everything was in perspective. One way of thinking was productive; the other led to numb, mind crippling fear.

He hooked his hip on the corner of Herbert's table, and leaned to get his glass from the other side of his monitor. His jacket hid his hand with USB stick, and a clink of the glass covered the click when it sat into the port.

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"Do you also sing?" Schafer asked when the black guy finished his thorough report of adventures that these lawyers, on a team-building trip, got caught up into; this Kafkian circle of misunderstood good deeds.

At which point, all three of them glared at him.

"Let me get this straight," he said. He turned to the Southerner. "Everything just… happened? And you're running around, with no idea what to do, stumbling upon dead bodies, torturers, stolen SUVs, innocent as newborn kitties? And all the thugs around you just happen to pass out and clear the way for you to advance onto another level of this game, gaining experience points as you go along? So advanced are your set of skills, you are – aside from your legal practice – now able to hack?" He motioned to the three laptops on the table and a chair. "Or was this already set up when you came in here – it also just _happened_?"

"Good idea," the black guy grinned. "Yes, all those things were already plugged in and working when we arrived here – scared to death and panicking – and we didn't dare to touch them since."

Three pairs of eyes aimed lazy blinks directly at him.

"Good, now that's all settled," he said, not trying to hide the irony. He felt his neck; his throat hurt, and he glanced again at the Southerner. One girl was sitting with him on the bed; she had her elbows on his thigh, her chin on her fists, and she watched him from that shelter with suspicious eyes. She channeled that guy, he realized; a miniature, compressed bundle of annoyance, disliking the new person in the room.

The girls didn't look scared of them; they weren't in danger. If nothing, he could admit that to them. They also, surprisingly, didn't have any weapons. He had swept the room with his eyes when he entered, and all three of them more thoroughly. No hidden weapons. He had scrutinized the Southerner with more attention, and changed his mind. He wasn't left-handed; he only spared his right hand. At first he thought that was as a result of all those thugs miraculously falling around them as they passed by them, but his eyes were trained to catch details. The folds on his blue shirt across his chest, under a light black jacket, revealed heavy bandaging.

"We need names," the blonde said. He agreed wholeheartedly; names, addresses, and their criminal records. And medical ones. "You can call me… Parker," she said and looked at the black guy. "He will be Hardison. And this one over there will be Eliot."

Yes, _that_ was really helpful; he was sure their real names were something completely opposite. No use of checking those.

Their ridiculous story wasn't told to convince him; that Hardison guy just sang all that nonsense, adding in everything he could, enjoying creating that crazy version. Yet, it was a thorough outline of all events, in the right order. They gave him a report of the entire case.

"While you think about this, I will sit in front of these laptops," Hardison said. "and I will stare at them in confusion, randomly pressing different keys, not having any idea of what I'm doing. Okay?"

"Of course, be my guest." He wished they would stop with this crap; Hardison's visible enjoyment in this play was both unnerving and maddening.

Hardison's fingers flew over the keyboard faster than he has ever seen someone typing, all the little clicks melding into one, long, uninterrupted staccato sound.

He was a cop, for god's sake – he wanted his world to be set into categories, labeled and put into the right positions. In his world, he had a set course of actions for every situation.

He should've called for a backup immediately, as soon as they released him – and he would have, if they hadn't snatched his phone – and the girls would be safe by now. It wasn't his job to decide who was guilty or not, his job was to take suspects into custody, a decision based on evidence. He had everything he needed to take them in under several suspicions and accusations; if clean, they would walk away. If guilty, they would be prosecuted.

Every minute those girls were here, the danger for them was getting stronger.

The Souther- Eliot's eyes were steady on him, as if he knew all those thoughts that whirled inside his head. That man waited for his move. Five steps distance between them was nothing, gun or no gun in play.

"I wouldn't risk opening fire in here with the children so close," he heard himself saying, much to his own surprise.

"I know." A simple answer. How the hell could he know that?

Allowing these fools to continue with this could prove deadly for everyone involved. His world was gritty and real. People got hurt and killed. Cops on duty got killed if they weren't obeying the rules – cops and innocent bystanders. Not to mention victims. No cop had a romantic view on the life of the streets, and if he let them play Avengers, it would be his fault, only his, if they dragged those girls to their premature deaths with them.

If he jumped on his feet now, he could reach the door and flee. They've said they wouldn't stop him. Finding a phone, calling for backup, securing the perimeter – it would take just a couple of minutes, yet they would clear out, taking the girls with them, and he would lose any chance of finding them again, ever. If he stayed, he could at least monitor what was going on and wait for his chance to snatch the girls somehow, and then escape.

He turned sideways to peer at the laptop on the chair by the table. Small green numbers and letters tilted on the dark background and he couldn't decipher the meaning, except that was a listing of some deeply burrowed directory. He glanced at it for only one second, and when he turned his head again, Eliot was standing three inches from him.

"They don't understand your dilemma," he said. "I do. Give me the gun."

_Or else_, would be the appropriate response, but Schafer knew better. It was better to give it to him, than to make him take it himself.

Eliot took the gun and emptied the magazine, then returned it to him. It really made a difference. With a loaded gun, he would think that he ought to do something – now he knew he couldn't. But the relief he felt wasn't a pleasant feeling, on the contrary.

"Now, you can't force your way out," Eliot said. "Forget about the rules and procedures. Think."

"Rules are there to help people choose the right thing, to direct them. Police procedures are accumulated knowledge and experience which cannot be ignored. There is a reason they work."

"I agree. It works until you find yourself thrown into something that cannot be categorized, when you have to decide for yourself. Until you are able to do that, I'll keep your bullets."

"What do you want from me?"

That question startled them all. Hardison stopped typing; they exchanged glances.

"We don't know yet." Parker was the one who replied.

"If everything really happened as you told me, you can come with me to the station and give your statements. Let the police take over. Now we know about de Bruin, I can search our databases and records for-" Hardison's hand moved quickly, pressing one key, and the screen of the third monitor turned black.

"Nothing to see here, go on," Hardison said. "Though I have to warn you, de Bruin hasn't ever been connected with any criminal activity. No fingerprints, no DNA, he wasn't even a suspect in any of the murders he's committed. He isn't your regular beat-your-wife-senseless type of criminal, Schafer; he is a player in an entirely different league. Herbert is more likely to get caught."

"Herbert Kien-Quaney III was never a suspect in this abduction case, but with your information, now I have enough to make it into a real investigation. It will take time, but he won't get away with this. I'll dig into everything I can and protect Natalie Johnstone. Don't you understand? You did it. You saved the girls, and saved her already. Let me do the rest."

"That's not how we – how our law firm works."

"You've all probably got criminal records, or any other reason not to get involved, I get it. But even if you all just clear out from here and disappear, that's enough. The girls will be taken care of, and Natalie protected."

They just listened, nobody tried to say anything. Schafer shook off the feeling he was being tested again, and continued. "Not to mention that we are losing valuable time here. Herbert and de Bruin have your man in a _known_ location, and it's a classic hostage situation. Every minute that passes will make this more difficult. Give me my phone, and I can start action, have the emergency teams moving, get negotiators and back up."

"We can't risk a bunch of cops involved – that would be a massacre," Eliot said. "We're doing this alone."

"You're an idiot. You will get your friend killed."

That wasn't the smartest thing to say to someone who held his life in his hand – but he remembered the fear buried in their eyes when they came for him in the basement. They knew how nasty this shit was.

A flash of anger exploded in Eliot's eyes; whatever fear was hidden deeper now had vanished, but before he could answer him, his phone rang.

Hardison shot his hand in the air, pressing more keys with the other one, and just when he nodded, Eliot pulled the phone out.

They all stared at the phone in his hand; he let it ring five times then answered the call.

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Nate planted the USB stick right on time. Herbert and de Bruin came back only five seconds later, and he returned to his chair.

"What exactly did you plan to do with the girls?" Herbert asked him. His chair squeaked when he sat; de Bruin made no sound while lowering himself into the chair by Nate's side.

"Nothing until the storm clears out. Spencer was supposed to grab Natalie from the airport at some point today. I don't know all his plans, only the parts connected with things we do together."

"And those would be?" de Bruin said.

"I've told you, it's complicated. I worked for Corso Games, and stolen their entire rocket launcher sequence of the game, and sold that to Japanese buyers. After that, I approached Natalie Johnstone, as one of Corso Games employees, and offered her a job working for us. I need her part of your game and I was willing to buy it. At that point the Japanese sent Spencer to keep an eye on me, and things went nasty; we tracked her to the airport and realized she was getting away. When we grabbed the girls we only found out you were after them when your thugs shot at us. And that's too much for me. I want out of this. I do frauds, this is way out of my league. Killing, kidnapping…no, thanks."

"There is only one way out for you," Herbert said. "I want the girls, he wants Spencer."

"And I'll deliver." Nate nodded. But he could not capitulate this fast, give them too much for nothing. "After that, we can discuss a price for Corso Game's rocket launchers. I still have my copy of that code, and the Japanese didn't have time to incorporate that into their game; you can just move faster than them."

"A double sell?" Herbert said.

"I have to cover my losses." He raised his glass in salute. "And that's also something that only I have. If you could get that from Corso Games, you would already have it. _That_'s the thing that will keep me alive."

Five long seconds passed; Herbert observed him. Finally he nodded. "Okay. We have a deal." He gave him a phone. "Call him and…"

"Wait." De Bruin said. A knot in Nate's stomach tightened. "If he works for the Japanese, and you're not his man, why would he give us girls for you?"

Yeah, right, a motivational plot hole a mile wide and deep, but one that could easily be bridged. "That, you see," Nate smiled at him, "is a thing I have yet to solve, so let me speak and keep quiet."

De Bruin's slow thinking was a disturbing sight; his eyes never left him. The Dutch nodded after a few seconds. "Tell him I'm out of the equation, and Herbert is the only one left to deal with. If you try to warn him, you'll end up with a bullet in your head."

"Why should I? He scares the crap out of me. But I will have to speak normally, as if nothing's happening, or _that_ will be warning enough for him. Let me speak, and don't interrupt me."

"Speaker phone." De Bruin said.

Nate hit speed dial. One sip of whiskey, while he waited, didn't help his dry throat a bit.

"Spencer," he said, to set up the tone of the conversation. "Things have changed; forget about the previous conversation, we have some serious business to discuss."

No reply.

"Spencer, you there?"

"Yeah."

"You could say something."

"What? How _marvelous_?" Eliot's voice raised in a fake cheer, than fell again. "Say what you have to say, I ain't got time for small talk."

The glass was slippery in his left hand; he rested it on his knee to steady his hand. "De Bruin left and I've made a deal with Herbert," he said with an even voice, desperately listening to the other side.

"Yeah, I thought that might happen." He heard a pale hint of smile in Eliot's voice. _Not good, not good_. He gripped the glass tighter. "We saw a connection between you; the same twisted minds, sharing the same patterns and data," Eliot continued. "I'm _so_ happy for you. Now stop with the crap and give me something good for me."

_We saw a connection_; Hardison was using the information gleaned via the USB already. But it wasn't important; Nate had to hear Eliot's reaction to the news of de Bruin's departure, and he heard only a worrying one. If Eliot, just for one second, thought de Bruin was really out, that could kill them all.

"In short, I've sold them something very precious. Until now, Myanmar was offering the best price for it, the Japanese entered the game only recently, and now, we have the best buyer here." That was the only way he could tell him that he was the main prize here – and again, only silence came as the answer. "I know you work for the Japanese buyers, but money is money. What do you say about this: you'll get paid the same money, maybe more, and you won't have to deal with the kids anymore."

"How?"

"Bring the girls here and give them to Herbert. I sold him Corso Games' rocket launcher sequence – they wanted that badly, more than the Japanese, and they paid more money. Your share will be bigger than all the money you'd get from them for Natalie's helicopter part – even if you managed to use the girls to get that sequence from her, which is disputable. Instead of tiresome extortion, you simply bring the girls here, and get the money instantly. Herbert is waiting here with me to carry out the transaction. Once you're here, the money will be transferred."

"Okay, that doesn't sound bad," there was an audible tone of relief in Eliot's voice now, and Nate's mind whirred desperately, unable to decipher whether the hitter deliberately let that be heard, or if he really did feel it.

This call could kill them all.

One word – just one misunderstood word, and he would watch all four of them die.

And for the first time in his life, Nate Ford couldn't read Eliot Spencer's voice, couldn't tell if his warning got through.

Dread settled deep.

"Now tell me why I should trust you?" Eliot, if nothing else, heard his silence and ran right over it. "What guarantee can you offer? What game are you playing, Baker?"

"Herbert needs that rocket launcher sequence to start implementing it in his game before the Japanese do - we all want this to end as fast as possible. That's the only guarantee I can offer you, but every business deal brings its own risk. Some greater than others." He paused, feeling de Bruin's and Herbert's eyes upon him. "This one started out with me as a Trojan Horse – no, wait, we have the girls in this game, which makes it more like a Trojan Pony." He let out a nervous chuckle. "A double Trojan Pony, to be precise."

"Yeah, hilarious. But the Japanese will find out I screwed them over, and that ain't good for my reputation. Maybe I should just pass on this one. I have the girls, and that Johnstone woman will give _me_ everything that she has."

Herbert's hand reached for the phone, but Nate slapped it away. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. _He wants more money_. Herbert stopped.

"Fine with me," Nate said. "I'll sell to Herbert what I've already sold to the Japanese, and you won't get a dime. I'll leave with my pockets full, leaving you with those brats, with police on your tail, and you have yet to think how to get from Natalie what you need. And I'll laugh all my way to Hawaii." He reached to the phone and ended the call.

Herbert jumped. "What the hell did you-"

"Stop, I know what I'm doing." He sipped his drink. "He won't come if he thinks it's a trap. This way, if he thinks we don't really need those girls, he won't consider that we're luring him into de Bruin's hands." Dear god, his own words set his heart sinking even deeper. He chased away the feeling of a self-fulfilling prophecy. "He will think, and he will call again, because he isn't a fool. Bringing the girls here is the most elegant way to solve this problem, and spare him from a tiresome extortion. Just wait."

So they waited.

This twist was good, it gave a note of authenticity; not even de Bruin suspected anything. If Eliot agreed too easily or too quickly, it would raise their suspicions.

But there was a terrifying possibility that Eliot really thought that de Bruin was out of this, and _that_ was the main reason Nate managed to turn this into a business transaction. It was more than possible. It would change everything; they would work on catching Herbert with evidence from the USB stick, turning this into the Cayman-accounts-fraud type of job – which it wasn't. Nate caught himself praying that Eliot's paranoia wasn't muted by his concussion – and he had no means to check.

Nate spared a glance to the USB stick – all his hopes now lay with that small piece of shit, not with his team. That thing would give them every security protocol and they would at least know everything that might wait for them here when they arrive. Even if they got this all wrong, thinking he turned the tables, they were damn smart, and fast. They would adapt, and use that knowledge, and just maybe, _maybe_, get out of this alive.

The phone rang after two minutes of torture.

"Okay," Eliot sounded pissed off. "My share from the Japanese, plus ten percent, and I'll bring you the girls."

Nate looked at Herbert. Herbert nodded immediately, without any thoughts, a clear sign that none of them was going to get out of this alive.

"Deal," Nate said. "How long will it take you to-"

"Wait," Herbert cut him off. "I don't want the girls here. I'll text you an address where you will take them. We will bring Baker and money."

And just like that, with only one sentence, any hope that the USB was going to help them disappeared in front of his eyes. He lured his own team into a kill-box at an unknown place that was probably already being prepared.

He took the bottle and poured himself another drink, grateful there was no ice in the glass. It would clink together louder than this storm.

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Nobody said a word when the conversation ended. Eliot could feel Hardison's and Parker's eyes on him, drilling, searching, asking – but he avoided them. Silence settled over them like a heavy blanket.

Nate's plan tied his stomach into a painful knot; their faces, set into blank neutrality, told him they felt the same dread. They could hardly show what it was all about, they had the girls and a cop here; they couldn't, neither one of them, say anything. They couldn't talk openly for now, and even if they could, he wouldn't know what to say to them.

Sitting there paralyzed would not help them; he turned to Mickey who was still sitting by his side. "Time to pack, darling," he said, sending an encouraging smile. "Go get dressed, and prepare your backpacks. Parker will check it later when you're done."

"Are we going to mommy?"

"Yes, I think we are. Not immediately, we have to do a few things before that, so you have to be patient for a little longer."

She nodded; no squeaking, no screams of joy this time. Both girls felt an oppressed weight that hung heavy in the room, they knew something was going on. He forced another smile and continued. "If the evil kitties gets close, or something else happens, you two are to go with this nice man here, okay? He will take you to mommy. He is a policeman."

That _nice man_ was watching them with unreadable eyes; during the conversation Schafer tried to say something a few times, mostly _this isn't how you do this_, and that sort of crap. Now he sat silently. Eliot knew that the cop couldn't possibly decipher what had been said, what Nate had asked them to do, or he would've reacted. But he would figure it out, sooner or later, and that might cause problems.

"Three SUVs have left the Signia complex," Hardison said. "I followed them to the first corner, then they disappeared. No more cameras I can use."

"We can presume those SUVs are the same as all of those we've used," Parker said. "Three rows of seats with seven people in each. That's twenty thugs plus Nate."

She got up when she saw he wasn't going to say anything about that. "I'll pack our things while we wait."

"They are going to prepare the scene and stand ready in wait for you," Schafer said. "I think now is the time when we skip the _I told you so_, and go directly onto _It's time to call for backup_. Give me that phone. You can't do anything."

Hardison spared him replying to Schafer. The hacker threw another USB stick into the cop's hands. "Here you have all the info I've collected – everything we've collected from the beginning, including a few recorded conversations. If anything happens to us, it should be enough."

"You don't seriously think you can- that's insane! Twenty thugs, a hostage, an unknown location in the middle of a major sand storm – people, no one will find your bodies, buried under the sand in the desert. Three of you can't possibly-"

"That's what we do – when we don't practice the law," Hardison said. "We have everything that we need, he managed to tell us all the important things we needed to know – we only need a plan now. We'll think about that while we drive."

"You have _everything_? What did I miss?"

"The key words are Trojan Horse. To be more precise – a _double_ Trojan Horse. Eliot…" Hardison turned to him now. But the hacker didn't finish his sentence, his name hung in the air.

Eliot stopped his shrug at the last second. "It will be… manageable." He noticed Schafer's eyes darting to his chest when he said that; the cop was quick in connecting things.

"De Bruin's cleaners aren't the same as Signia's thugs." There was a careful note in Hardison's voice now.

He smiled. "No, they ain't."

Hardison knew that this subject was over and done.

Silence fell upon the room again; only rapid stereo whispers were coming from the pink room.

Hardison unplugged his laptop; he gathered all the cables with slow, tired moves, before turning the other computers off. The screens died with the crackle sound of static, adding more flavor to the feeling of finality.

Eliot leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Studying the carpet between his feet was more productive than watching any of them. Parker rustled through their bags, Hardison clicked the straps closed on his laptop bag, and Schafer stayed still, making no sound. They didn't have time to erase every sign of their presence, nor to wipe everything down for fingerprints. It wouldn't make any difference now, though. Police forensic units would only add them to their existing records.

He should get up. Yet, Schafer would notice his balance problems, and might try to use it later. The cop thoughts, first and foremost, were about the safety of the girls. They _did_ need that, but it could also be a major problem when things started to get nasty. And they would.

"Shafer, go help the girls to pack, please," he said. "They have to know you better, if you want them to go with you when time comes."

"So you can discuss your plan in private?" Schafer said. "It would be better if I know-"

"Schafer, go, _please_."

That wasn't a plea, and the cop heard that. "Fine," he said getting up. "By the way, which idiot did that dreadful thing to their hair? If for nothing else, you should serve a life sentence because of that…" He disappeared into the pink room, leaving them alone. No weapons there, no other exits, only one window with lowered blinds; they could leave him there unsupervised for a few minutes.

Eliot gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the bed; he had to use both hands for that.

He was right; after every longer siting, getting up was more difficult. He made almost one entire step to the left before he could straighten himself in an upright position, without any sign of his messed-up balance. Schafer had noticed the bandages, but hadn't caught his limping yet, and he had to keep it that way.

Parker and Hardison stopped packing.

The plan. Yes. They had to discuss it. But no one said a word. It felt exactly like in Washington, a few days prior, when they all felt something was amiss with rapidly dispatching the flu, when they sat in the dark van under its bluish light, trying to figure out what, exactly, was wrong. They did figure it out then – now it seemed there wasn't anything left to think of. They already knew too much now.

Hardison broke the silence first. "Who's gonna talk to Sophie?"

"I will," said Parker. "She would scream at you, not at me."

"Good," both of them said in unison.

Parker pulled one whip of her hair, but realized what she was doing before she chewed on it, and pushed both her hands into her pockets. "You know," she started, "maybe we can change it as we go along. When they send us location, it might give us a few more options."

"Nate wouldn't know about our changes then, and we can't play different plans," he said. "No, Parker, until we're able to communicate with him again, this plan stays as it is."

"So this is it, then?" Hardison sounded too quiet.

"Yep."

"Okay," Parker returned to her bags. Hardison looked as if he might say something else, but the hacker shook his head, finally, and gathered the hard drives and phones from the table.

Eliot had one more thing to do here before they left, but it would wait until they head for their SUV.

The girls in the pink room giggled; their Prince Charming was obviously accepted as part of their group. He planned to put him in the middle seat with the girls. Parker would drive and Hardison would take shotgun. The back seat will be for him only, to have them all in his sight, and to rest his leg on the seats.

One final visit to the bathroom, to check the bandages once more, and he would be set to go. Only one thing was left to-

His phone pinged and stopped him half way to the bathroom; an incoming message. Herbert sent the location of the trade. He clicked the screen but letters and background melted into bluish soup before his eyes; he couldn't read it.

He suppressed the need to squash the damn thing in his hand, and threw the phone to the hacker. "Read it. I can't."

Hardison caught it and took a look. "Yep, that's from Herbert, we've got the location-" But the two words that escaped him weren't an address. Hardison took a deep breath and said, "Hell, no."

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	14. Chapter 14

TRTJ – Chapter 14

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They all knew why Herbert decided to choose the busy Phoenix Airport as the exchange place, but they were very careful not to show Schafer how screwed they really were. Eliot was pretty certain that the cop already knew, just decided to keep silent and play along.

And somehow, it felt right – they were closing the loop on a full circle, back to the place where everything had started. He planned to finish it there.

Three SUVs had left the Signia building, Airport bound, more than twenty minutes prior, and they needed to hurry in order to catch up, so as not to give Herbert and de Bruin too much time to prepare their trap. Parker's reassuring nod when he mentioned their timing was enough of an answer; she would drive.

Their preparation while packing to leave Natalie Johnstone's house was a double-layered dance; they exchanged light and meaningless sentences for the benefit of the cop's ears, and dark glances replaced entire conversations. The real concoction of their plan went completely unnoticed; quick nods, trading glances, and barely a few muttered words. That would have to be enough. They all knew the drill, just this time the stakes were deadly and much higher than ever before.

Another thing that Eliot discovered when Parker went to get the girls was enough to turn things deadly.

Having been chased away to the pink room with both girls, Lieutenant Schafer did an unspeakable thing, and Eliot seriously considered murdering the man.

"Oh, c'mon, knock it off!" Hardison said lowly while they climbed downstairs to the car, unimpressed with the supposed problem, but visibly annoyed. Maybe he did grumble a few minutes too long. "It's not that big of a deal – he simply let their hair down. So what? They look nice either way."

"He didn't ask… first," Eliot said. "That's just plain effrontery, it's pushy, it's rude, it's-"

"Stop nagging!" Parker hissed behind his back. The thief carried one bag – Schafer was burdened with the others, and he trudged slowly a few steps in front of them.

"I'm not nagg- I never nag! I'm simply expressing-"

"Look man, unless Wesley Snipes plays either you or Schafer in the movie 'the Destroyed Buns Conspiracy', I don't want to hear about it. Not another word, Eliot. I mean it." Hardison hadn't stopped clicking on his tablet while he spoke and talked. That was good. They climbed slowly because of that, so Eliot had enough time to hide his limp.

He sighed, looking at both girls who currently followed Schafer. They had their jackets on, 'Hello Kitty' backpacks, and over the top of that their hair flew freely in a messy cloud. Like two frigging lollipops, each with a giant ball on the top.

Schafer darted a look over his shoulder; Eliot could swear it was for gloating, though he couldn't quite see his facial expression. They kept the lobby in the dark so the girls wouldn't see any of the blood on the walls while passing through.

Parker hurried before all of them.

"Just a sec," Hardison stopped a step before entering the howling wind. "I have to transfer this before all that sand tries to kill my tablet."

"Schafer, wait there," Eliot said to the cop who already had one foot on the porch. The cop understood his instructions; he wasn't allowed to move more than five steps from Eliot, and never from his sight.

"I snatched all Natalie's codes for the game from her computer," Hardison said. "Without deeper analysis I can't say what it's all about, but it looks quite complicated enough. Nate will need those. He made Herbert believe he has the codes from Corso Games' rocket launchers, and he will need to at least show some codes when Herbert asks for them."

"No problem, I'll send Parker to get us a pair of pigeon carriers to deliver them to him."

Hardison whipped him a nasty glare. "I can't send him a message while it's likely that Herbert has his phone; but the next time we talk – and that means us calling him with an excuse – I'll send the message with a direct link in it. I uploaded the entire code onto a secure site, and he will have to have password to open it."

"And he will know that password, how?"

"The message will read 'Pixie', he will know exactly which name to type," Hardison grinned. "Nate gave that nickname to only one client – and now that I think about it, he did it within the first hour – how the hell could he know you would-"

"Stop. Talking."

Hardison's grin grew wider, and for a moment it felt like a real one, not just a ploy for Schafer, however he did shut his mouth.

Schafer watched them, keeping the door slightly ajar, but wide enough for the wind to slam at him filled with sand. "Are you always this cheerful when heading towards your untimely deaths?" the cop asked.

"You called _him_ cheerful?" Hardison said. "Exactly how long was your brain without oxygen?"

"Yes, please _do _remind me that I was assaulted and kidn-"

"Enough!" Eliot emitted his most ominous growl. Schafer shut his mouth instantly. Both girls turned towards him and their smiles blossomed upon their faces, then continued after Parker to the SUV.

They returned running after only a few seconds, with little squeaks, and the wind rushed after them, chasing them even inside the lobby.

"See?" Eliot pointed an accusing finger at their hair, a whipped-up mess full of sand. "You made an excellent sand collector on their heads. I guess they each have a pound or so in their locks, a pound of sand that would have only slid off their buns, not-"

"So you made that monstrosity," Schafer said. "It's a crime, and trust me, I know a crime when I see one. You have no basic sense of-"

"Seriously? Seriously?!" Hardison said. He stopped typing and stared at both of them.

Eliot ignored him and pulled one of the girls closer, digging into her backpack. Luckily for him, they had more 'Hello Kitty' bands, but just in case, he'd put several in his pocket. Schafer shook his head repeatedly, while he shook the sand from their hair and tied both up into a tight bun. "Now they can go out into the storm," he said when he had finished. "Hardison, you done with that crap? We're losing time here."

"Fifteen seconds. I have to finish it, to start hacking the Airport mainframe – that one will be a bitch. Remember I had told you all? I hadn't even tried touching the Airport's security feed, because it's monitored and because I don't want SWAT teams on my tail, unless I _want_ SWAT teams on my tail. That's still on. I'll need a quiet place to work when we arrive."

"Yeah, quiet. Channel your inner Wesley Snipes, and-" Eliot stopped when Hardison waved an impatient hand at him. Yeah, it was probably better not to distract him.

"You go with the girls, I'm almost done here." A horn honk followed the hacker's words; Parker was waiting. Eliot motioned for Schafer to go out to the car, and nudged the girls after him.

The SUV closed around them, shutting out the storm and he rested his head against the back of the seat, just barely paying attention to the seating arrangements in front of him, keeping an eye only on Schafer. The cop was still their captive, and he didn't trust him one little bit. This light banter served only one purpose, to keep Schafer at ease. The cop couldn't see how much effort both he and Hardison put into it, how false their words sounded.

Parker started the engine. They had to arrive at the Airport if not before, then at least at the same time as when Herbert's party arrived. And that meant only one thing… he clutched the seat and steadied himself.

The girls screamed. Schafer didn't, but he looked as if he wanted to.

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"… and that's my final word!" Sophie ended a three minutes long tirade with a very pissed off exclamation mark; she had left Natalie and her escort when her phone rang, and now she paced up and down the terminal, out of sight. All three of them in her ear – plus a cop – patiently waited until she finished her tirade, trying not to interrupt her. She did feel better. A little. An inner gnawing fear hadn't subsided just because she let it all out. "Idiot." She murmured one last thought. _Oh Nate, what have you done_?

De Bruin. That man had Nate for more than half an hour already, and she simply shut off her brain, refusing to think of every possible thing that he could do to him by now. Yes, they've told her he managed to turn and play them – Parker even used her gentle voice, bless her heart - but de Bruin didn't need an excuse, nor was he restrained by any norm.

"I'm walking towards that part now," she said finally. No use in wasting time now, they had work to do. "You have the main public area which is open and almost as busy as usual. Beside that there's a seated area for passengers, where Natalie is sitting. Behind that section, everything is closed off and sealed."

"That 'everything' is what we need, Sophie."

"What we need is a bloody miracle, Eliot!" She bit her lip when her voice threatened to give out, before continuing calmer. "You understand why they've chosen this place, out of the whole of Phoenix? They have SWAT teams here, ready to do their dirty work for them and deliver those girls after killing you, their kidnappers."

"We know. Where are you now?"

"Walking along the tape line which separates the closed-off area from the passenger lounge. It will be simple to pass by it and enter the duty-free complex. Through that part, if I read the plan correctly, you can reach that area where Herbert has sent you. Wait…" She stopped and turned back to glance at Natalie and the two thugs on watch. "Something isn't quite right with this."

"What do you mean?"

"The place where you'll exchange the girls for Nate is part of the luggage and transportation department; a big warehouse-like hangar connected to the terminal. I'm looking at the plan right now, it's a big square glued to the terminal. It has entrances from underground, auxiliary routes, two exits to the runway and a couple more to the terminal. SWAT checked it, sealed it and moved on to the other hangars. It's empty and perfect for them – not connected with this area, but close enough for SWAT to be there in a matter of minutes. Right?" She chased away a growing worry. "And how could Herbert know all that? I've been with Natalie and his thugs for the last hour, none of them left us to examine that. Eliot, he has someone else here, not only those two. Him, or de Bruin – more likely de Bruin – has someone at the airport who is directing them. There's no chance we can find him in time."

"It's enough that we know that. Good catch, Soph. Now, you'll need to fetch me a pilot jacket and a cap; I have to move freely, and have something to cover my face on cameras. You will, also, have to deal with those two thugs and get Natalie out of there."

"Oh, and what punches would you suggest? Should I just knock 'em down, or maybe-"

"I'm sure you'll do great." This time Eliot's smile ran right over her bitter words and she let him do that. "Since we're doing the Trojan Horse you can do a switch variant of the Trojan."

"I'll be the Switch," Parker said. "After I deal with the SWAT team and collect everything we need."

Sophie sighed and turned to go back to Natalie. "You know," she said after a moment silence. "I'm not quite sure why he is doing a _double_ Trojan Horse… that's increasing the danger for things to go south."

"Herbert is a psychopath and his IQ is probably sky high," Hardison said. "To say nothing about de Bruin. They would see through simple Trojan. This way we have a chance that _one_ out of two will work."

"In theory: Practical is a rain of bullets."

Nobody said anything about that. She decided to think it was because of the cop listening, and not because they didn't know what to say.

"Call me when you're near," she finished the call and went hunting for the pilot jacket.

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They were probably a gang of bank robbers. Schafer made a mental note to go through all known crews, and search for non-violent types of crime. They didn't use weapons, their set of skills highly professional and very exclusive. He could feel how well practiced they were; he couldn't read their non-verbal communication, but the sheer amount of it they used showed him they'd been in business together for more than a few years. He read all the little signs and information they were revealing, adding them to his picture profile; it would help him complete the file he was mentally compiling.

Too bad they would all end up in jail – he almost liked them.

Their decision to take the girls along to the exchange and put them in further danger, instead of giving them to him so he could take them to safety, was what decided it for him; all his thoughts about eventually playing along with them and helping them, evaporated while he listened to their communication with the last member of the gang. They had to be stopped.

However, that would only happen if they ever got out of this SUV alive. He had counted at least twenty-seven traffic violations so far. The closer they got to the airport, the blonde drove even faster, until all around him passed by in a blurred grey fog. The girls calmed down after their initial fear, though; they sat beside him, and he spent the entire drive holding them over their seatbelts.

He unraveled their buns and let their locks loose again, waiting for any reaction from the back seat. Nothing came his way. Yet, the dark attention he felt resting on him hadn't eased a bit, it just pierced through him stronger. That man didn't trust him - and that man had to go down first.

It was a good thing that Eliot kept him as close as possible; it would give him the chance he needed to do something. He would also go with him, probably, because they both knew none of the other two could deal with him without weapons, or without tying him up.

When their enforcer went down, the rest would be easy.

Schafer smiled at the girls. It hurt him to see them trusting these people. They were just a tool in their hands; they would be used to get their man back. In all likelihood they were taking them into a gun fight, and that was something that couldn't be forgiven. Ever.

"Parker, when we arrive, you'll go first to walk around those SWAT vehicles," Hardison said, interrupting his thoughts. "Sophie said they were parked at the far end of the runway, check them and get what we need."

Maybe he had to re-think his non-violent version of their crimes. If they were after SWAT weapons, this would turn into a massacre. With the girls stuck right in the middle of the kill-box.

"And after that, a shopping spree!" Parker voice was cheerful.

"What shopping?" he asked. "All airport shops are closed."

"Exactly," she said, and he met her eyes in the rearview mirror. They were gleaming. "The entirety of the duty-free complex is abandoned. I'll skip through-"

"Parker," a low voice from behind said in warning, and she stopped, but Schafer heard enough. All jewelry shops, gold, gems and expensive watches, laid open for them now.

"Don't worry, I'm not interested in your side jobs," he said with the same half-friendly tone he managed to maintain from the beginning. Though, now, it was more difficult. "As far as I'm concerned, you can fill your pockets with diamonds – I only want to see the girls in the hands of the police. As soon as possible. After that, we can discuss other things, if you're still around."

"Fair enough," Eliot said.

He turned around and met his gaze; cold, ruthless eyes that sent a clear message.

"We're here," Parker said before he could think of something to say to him. The blurred mess around him slowed into a dusty fog. They were at the airport parking lot.

Hardison jumped out into the wind. Someone joined him but sand made it impossible to see who. _A woman_? There was a glimpse of a dark hair under something like blue scarf on her head, it had to be that _Sophie_ they'd spoke to. Their choice of false names was lousy, not imaginative at all. Hardison's hands were on her shoulders while he spoke to her.

Schafer eyed both Parker and Eliot. He could jump out and disappear in the storm. He would be invisible after only a few meters, and no, not even Eliot could catch him. He did notice his careful steps, and all effort he put into hiding how weak his left leg was. But before he could have reached any of the SWAT teams – parked on the opposite side, and sweeping who knows which hangar by now – they would clear out, taking the girls with them. Only if he stayed was he sure that he could do something – and he had a feeling they knew his dilemma, they knew his hands were tied.

He wouldn't and couldn't leave without the twins.

"Mommy is here?" one small voice asked.

"Yes, she is here," he said when it was clear none of them would reply. "I will take you to her soon. Be patient, okay?" He darted Parker a quizzical look. Her eyes were glued on Hardison and the woman, as if she was trying to decipher what he was telling her.

Yet another pair of eyes were glued on him, constantly.

Hardison returned thankfully minutes before that scrutiny became almost unbearable, when he was only a second from turning back and-

"Here's your fancy jacket," Hardison threw the bundle towards the back seat. "And a cap. She couldn't find you a white shirt and tie so you'll have to button up the jacket to hide your blue shirt. These are caps for the girls, they'll hide their hair."

"They _would_ hide their hair if it was still in the buns," Eliot said. "Girls, come here."

Schafer gritted his teeth on a snarky reply, and just let him destroy their locks _again_.

"Parker, take us closer to the left part of the terminal – we'll use the underground auxiliary route to enter," Hardison continued. She started the engine and drove them slowly, for a change. No reason for that; there weren't any cameras that could penetrate this sand, she could drive the plane across the parking lot and no one would notice.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked. "Stay with the girls while you do your…thing?"

"Yeah, right," someone wasn't having any trouble with snarkiness; the reply from behind came in full force. "You're going with me. Hardison is going to the terminal-"

"Passenger lounge area," Hardison cut Eliot off. "There won't be many people with invitations now, and I'll be able to work. It's also on the side of terminal that's leaning onto Herbert's exchange place. If needed, I can be in that part in a matter of minutes. The girls will go with me for the beginning."

A new hope rose in Schafer's chest; maybe they weren't planning to take the girls to Herbert after all. The Passenger lounge area sounded safe enough. If he managed to get near a phone, he could alarm Security and send them to get the girls to safety, Hardison wouldn't be able to stop them. He lowered his head to hide his thoughts, and kept his mouth shut.

Parker stopped the SUV between numerous delivery vehicles, lined up under the huge structure hovering over them. That part of the terminal was covered in a murky gloom. The main part of the terminal was aglow with lights.

_There_, in the lit part, was help, his backup, his people. Schafer eyed the dark mass, just then realizing how enormous it was. A fucking labyrinth full of different storerooms, bonded storage, some of them probably automated, with airport machinery, and who knows what not. And bang smack in the middle of that, the chosen exchange hall. They would need an hour just to find their way inside. In his experience, it would only be lit by emergency lights, making it even harder.

They got out and Hardison took the girls with him without a word. Eliot was right this time. Their hair was completely invisible when tied up in buns under the caps.

Before he could say anything, the SUV started again and disappeared. Parker drove off. She was really going to loot those SWAT vehicles. He couldn't tell if he was more scared or furious, but when he turned to face the only remaining member of the gang, the balance definitely fell over to the scared side. Eliot watched him. Though it was daytime, a cloud of sand hundreds of feet tall blocked out almost all the light, making noon seem like a dark stormy twilight. He could barely see a glimpse of his eyes underneath the cap. Four golden stripes on the sleeve of his pilot jacket glowed in the dark.

"Five steps, Schafer."

"And never out of sight," he said. "Yes, I know. What are you going to do?"

"Clear the perimeter while waiting for the time to call Herbert again. The fewer thugs at the exchange place, the less trouble for us when the time comes." Eliot waved before him, to the dark entrance that went underground. Only a pathetic Do Not Cross Line barred the gate.

Schafer took a deep breath, and went down after him.

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Watching the difference in behavior between de Bruin's Maintenance Service thugs and Herbert's Signia Security would be amusing, if it didn't leave a bitter taste in Nate's mouth.

Herbert's people rushed inside the building in a large group, with their guns waving dangerously around them, before spreading out around their boss to escort him deeper into the barely lit darkness, as if protecting Royalty. De Bruin's men walked slowly behind them, spread out in a rough line. Their hands were empty and relaxed. They covered the entire perimeter without drawing the slightest bit of attention to themselves, each of them securing one part of space around de Bruin. All _five_ of them. De Bruin spared the muscular guy, who told the team about his warehouse. His glances to Nate were particularly nasty.

Nate was guided nearer to Herbert. Three thugs had their guns drawn on him, as if he would scream and bounce off the walls and up onto the ceiling like a ninja.

"We will stay here and wait until my men secure the perimeter," Herbert said turning around. Ten of his men left the hall through several different passages. None of de Bruin's men followed them; they all stayed around their principal.

They were at the entrance of the huge hangar, and this hall seemed to spread deeper. Nate counted seven doors of normal size and three large enough for vehicles that led further into the building, openings to the other halls, rooms and corridors.

Behind their backs, a line of ten runway sweepers sat silently while they waited parked.

His phone rang.

Herbert motioned for him to answer. "Put it on the speaker phone." De Bruin came closer but said nothing.

"We're running late," Eliot said, his voice echoing through the waste space. "We need twenty more minutes at least. Are you there yet?"

Nate looked at Herbert; he nodded.

"Yes, we are here, waiting. What happened?"

"Damn storm happened. I made a mistake and let a woman drive. You know the usual result of that. We barely survived."

They were already here. Maybe they were even waiting for them, not vice versa – Parker's usual driving would give them at least twenty minutes head start. "I will call you again when-" a loud banging and clanging covered Eliot's words. Nate held the phone nearer to his ear, out of habit, and he was the only one who heard the ping in the middle of that noise. An incoming message.

"Okay, okay, I got it!" he said louder, almost yelled. "We'll wait, you just drive. You won't have problems finding this place; it's a little bigger than Damien's warehouse, but basically the same setup. You'll recognize it when you see it." Even a complete moron would understand this warning. _A warehouse full of armed thugs, ready to kill them all_. It was so glaringly obvious the warning, that Nate glanced across at de Bruin, to see if he was coming to stop him. But none of the people around him reacted and he relaxed.

"Do you have my money?" Eliot said when the banging stopped.

Again, Nate looked at Herbert. He held a tablet in his hand. "Once I get the girls, one tap of my finger and it will be transferred to your account."

The number of which, he hasn't asked at all. "Herbert has a tablet with money and accounts, everything that's needed," Nate said. "You just deliver what you ought to, and we're out of here."

"I've got that. Anything else?"

His mind went blank. _Confirm you know de Bruin's here._ _Prove you'll all live_. "No. Just piggyback those brats right on over here."

"Piggybacking part is covered. We're on our way." Eliot ended the call.

_This_ almost allowed him to smile. Trust and fear, mostly fighting for supremacy, finally started to settle closer towards the trust side. They all knew what to do.

He took a deep breath and smiled at Herbert. "So, ten more minutes and we all get what we want, and go our separate ways," he said.

Herbert just nodded. De Bruin said nothing, just walked away. Nate's eyes followed him out of the corner; the Dutchman made a call, but he walked to the opposite side of the hangar, perching himself on one of the runway sweepers. Whatever that conversation was, it wasn't for public consumption. He would give anything to listen in on that conversation, so conveniently timed directly after Eliot announced he'd be late.

But de Bruin's leaving was good; de Bruin only observed, never letting anyone see his inner feelings or thoughts. Reading him or even trying to confuse him, might prove impossible. Herbert was a much easier target and his was the last word in making these decisions.

Nate returned his eyes to Herbert and softened his voice. "You're a constant force in the gaming business, Herbert. Exactly the type of man I am looking for, for future cooperation. We don't have to stop here. If this transaction goes smoothly, I can offer you so much more."

"What do you mean?"

"It took me only a month of preparation to infiltrate Corso Games and get their game codes. I know you tried to do the same and failed. The Japanese pay good money and I'm under a contract with them… but I'm willing to consider other options. Name the game, Herbert. Tell me what you want, what codes you need for your game, and I'll deliver it to you."

Herbert's eyes were careful.

"You don't have to decide right away, just think about all the possibilities. Let me show you something…" Nate opened a message on the phone – the phone Herbert forgot to take back from him – and followed all Hardison's steps on it. "Nah, I haven't got any connection here, damn storm is messing everything up… is your tablet still connected to Signia's network?"

"Why?"

"Just check your connection, nothing else, see if it works – once the girls are here, I'll give you a password for a place where codes are stored," Nate said and slowly erased the smile from his face. "It's up to you and your trigger-happy friends then. You can have the password for something much more valuable than one single cheap code, but only if we all leave this place satisfied. Ever heard about Dragon Age?"

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Hardison didn't expect trouble with the girls all bundled up and unrecognizable, though the potential problem still pressed him; a too-young black guy with two white girls could raise a curious someone's eyebrow.

Even only a raised eyebrow, with all this shit, might be deadly.

His luck held through the first steps; walking, entering the passenger lounge, finding a place to catch a good Wi-Fi signal. The girls were silent and there weren't too many people around him. None of the airport staff or security teams entered this area now their numbers had been cut because of the terrorism threat and the storm.

"If you just sit here quietly and watch me work, I'll tell you the only story about twins – a princess and a prince." He said when he opened his laptop, putting the tablet aside. There were no cheap plastic seats in here they sat on comfortable chairs with small coffee tables, surrounded with magazine and newspaper shelves.

"Hansel and Gretel?" they asked in unison, while he took off their jackets. The caps had to stay on their heads, and he tucked all visible hair under them.

"No. Luke and Leia. The greatest twins that ever lived, in a Kingdom far, far away… They were separated when they were very little and taken-"

Two squeaks interrupted his words; the girls held each other's hands and huddled together.

"No, wait, it wasn't a permanent separation-"

"Where was their mommy?" The left one whispered.

"Uhm, she, uhm, well." He cleared his throat. "She wasn't there. But she was a great Queen."

"And their father?" asked the right one.

"He, well, uhm – he wasn't there, either." That was even worse. Maybe he didn't think this through properly. He quickly thought about all the sequels, going through possible outcomes that might be squeak-triggers, and finally settled on the last one. "And after a lot of adventures, when they were together again, they found themselves on a planet full of talking and dancing, _alive_ teddy bears!"

That drew two smiles, and he sighed in relief. This parenting thing was damn difficult.

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Someone would think that breaking into armored SWAT tactical vehicles was something to be worried about. The same someone would also think that there was no need to leave any man behind to stand guard around said vehicles, for the very same reason.

The only thing Parker was worried about was the dust whipping at her eyes while she worked on the lock. That, and time. Airport runways were huge and driving back would take some time. If she didn't find what she was looking for in the first vehicle, a repeated attempt would extend this even more, and their time clock was ticking.

She made use of one particularly nasty gust of wind that slammed at the vans shaking them all, and she opened the door sliding into the dark interior.

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Eliot didn't have any problems with divided attention, as Schafer followed him only a few steps behind. The cop wouldn't dare try anything; he had shown him what would happen if he tried to attack him. His screwed up balance was improving. When he concentrated, he could walk in straight line, not leaning too much to the left, but he had to reveal his limp. He had to spare his leg as much as he could now and pretending was just too much of an effort.

His problem was all the noise around. The storm banged into the hangar, finding impossible ways to use every micro hole, every loose window. The wind whistled through the corridors, bouncing off the metal, clanging against pipes and wires, and a constant, though diminished roar made it impossible to hear footsteps or even a door opening. His headset didn't help either, it still caught all the sounds around the other members of the team.

"Wait," Schafer said when they entered a row of narrow corridors that led deeper into the storage rooms. "When you said you'd clear the perimeter, what exactly did you mean- oh."

Both Schafer and a man who almost stepped between them were equally surprised. The latter didn't have his gun ready – he clearly wasn't de Bruin's man – and he reached into his jacket exactly three seconds too late. It took two hits to take him down.

"I meant this," Eliot said. He would let the cop search the fallen goon, but he couldn't risk Schafer taking his gun.

He didn't even hear this guy coming. Parker's line in his ear had emanated a loud bang, as if she slammed a heavy door, and that covered every sound around him. "Listen, everybody," he said when he disarmed the goon and slowly straightened up. "I'll give Schafer my headset – mind your words, filter your babbling so as not to confuse him, and be clear with messages; he will report them to me."

"Roger that," Parker said. "I'm slightly delayed. I found everything, but I can't get out. Two SWAT cops came out for a smoke and they are leaning against my door. That means seven minutes before I can drive back to you. Sophie, can you do the duty-free shops sweep? You'll need a large luggage cart. Remember, you dragged one of those when we had our last job at the airport, with that stolen heart?"

"In a bit," Sophie said. "I'll just check on Natalie once more."

Eliot took off the headset, and their voices disappeared. He gave the phone to the cop. "The battery will hold until we finish this," he said. "This conference call is on speed dial, so if you have to end it, just press number one again to return to the conversation."

Schafer held the headset in his hand, not putting it on yet. "You won't give the girls to Herbert?" he asked. "If that plan of yours goes wrong, you won't buy your man with them?"

He watched the young cop for a second. "That was never an option, Schafer."

Schafer held his gaze; the dim light hid many things, but not his suspicion. Why should he trust the words of some petty criminal? No one clever would even consider it. He would believe him only when he could see the result.

Eliot pointed at the unconscious man on the floor. "We're losing time. The more of them I remove from the game before I go to get Nate out, the less danger is for the girls. Follow me and be quiet."

It looked as if Schafer might say more, but he finally shook his head and put the headset on. Whatever troubled him – and Eliot could think of a thing or two – he obviously decided to let it go for now.

He went first, now able to hear better, and melted into the shadows.

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After the third thug went down, Eliot took off his jacket. Schafer thought it was because it restrained his moves, but then he witnessed how a simple jacket could become a deadly weapon in the hands of a man who knew what he was doing. Fighting took its toll on the Southerner, though they were sweeping the hangar for barely five minutes, and Eliot's steps turned into one constant sway.

One would think it would only take a slight nudge for him to crash to the floor – Schafer wasn't that stupid.

The fourth thug even had his gun in his hand, and he had the time to smirk at his victim when he took one shaky step closer. That time, Schafer had to squint when the jacket flew forward, followed by an eruption of movements. One more gun to disarm and leave beside the unconscious body.

The others were silent most of the time, and he only had to brief Eliot about the other's various progresses, and tell them how they were doing in return.

Twenty minutes time-frame that Eliot had given Herbert, crawled slowly past them as they patrolled the hangar, keeping themselves far away from the actual exchange spot. He noticed that Eliot cleared mostly the side from where they entered. He had been clearing their escape route in advance. He was sure Parker had parked their SUV at the exact place where they left it and went through the underground passage.

The fifth and sixth thugs came in a pair, and it wasn't just a quick slam at them; Eliot had to really fight them. He received as many hits as he gave; he was getting slower, his moves weren't as precise and efficient, as they had been at the beginning.

Schafer followed, and observed, waiting for his moment.

The seventh and eighth almost got lucky – at least they held out a little longer and Eliot had to get up twice. But he _did_ get up, damn him, as an unstoppable machine that just shook his joints and continued on his path of destruction.

After them, there was a constant sway in his every step; he had trouble with sharp turns in corridors even when he was only walking. He even missed one, staggering to the left when he had to turn right.

The ninth guy was alone, but he waited for them in a dark passage, invisible until he surged forward and tackled Eliot into the wall. The jacket did all of his work this time; it wrapped around the hand that placed the hits, made a barrier for the attacker's eyes. It couldn't, however, stop the thug's knee that placed a few hits of it's own before Eliot knocked him down with his elbow.

This time Eliot stayed in the darker spot; he clutched at the pipes with his good hand and just breathed. Schafer weighed up his chances. Maybe this was a good time to take him down, when he wasn't recovered enough – but he recovered too damn quickly.

Voices in his ear distracted him. The moment passed when they started talking again and he just listened.

"Sophie says to meet her back there, where this hangar connects with the terminal," he reported to Eliot. "She has prepared the luggage cart and left it there for you to pick it up - and everything is ready. She is heading towards Hardison." Whatever _everything_ was.

"Okay, move." Eliot's voice sounded mumbled; he went closer to see him better. That last hit with the knee was nasty and even this fighting machine might need a breather. Only when Eliot moved closer to the emergency light, did he see what the problem was; his shoulder was bleeding, blood soaking through the blue shirt, turning it into a deep purple.

Eliot saw his look. "I ran with scissors yesterday," he said. "Keep walking. Three steps before me."

So as not to see his swaying and just how unstable he was; just how close to falling down this last fight had pushed him. Schafer said nothing, just walked on.

They went through the part they'd already swept, but they knew now it was clean and therefore it only took a couple of minutes.

"Schafer, tell me when you're in position," Hardison said in his ear. "Sophie is with me, she will take Mickey to you two. ETA two minutes, and be ready."

He stopped mid-step, almost stumbled, as his heart skipped a beat. Why did they need the girl…? Sons of bitches, they planned to give one of the girls to Herbert all along, and he bought their story like a fucking idiot!

"Schafer, did you hear me? Is everything alright there-" He reached into his pocket and cut the call, but he didn't stop, didn't turn back. His mind ran into desperate circles, yet he kept the pace, not letting Eliot see his turmoil. His steps were light and fast.

A big double door divided this hangar from the terminal, and in front of them, in a corridor full of empty carts, stood the one Sophie deposited. It was full of bags; backpacks and large suitcases made into a square almost three feet tall. The middle was empty, and he caught a glimpse of a large white SW letters; it had to be SWAT weapons.

_Their loot from the jewelry shops_. Maybe they didn't plan to get their man out after all, and this was the only thing they were after. Desperation crept into his heart while he listened to the footsteps that followed him. A robbery _and_ getting the money from selling the girls – and he helped with it. A naïve fool who thought they were trying to save them.

He had to do something.

He stopped two steps before the cart; Eliot passed by him to examine it.

He would have only one attempt. His mouth was dry as if full of sand, the numbing fear almost paralyzed him. Being on the receiving end of this killing machine was terrifying even to think of, yet every second that passed was lessening his chances.

No way could he take him down in a fair fight. But he knew all his weak spots now.

He waited. Eliot put the jacket on the cart but he stumbled briefly, leaning with both hands on the bags. He was clearing his head from the dizziness, and Schafer couldn't let him get himself together, he had to use this lightheadedness, this moment of near collapse.

Schafer took a step closer; he was within his reach now, a step behind and one to the side, and he cringed inwardly. "What's in there?" he asked in a low whisper.

Eliot straightened up and reached for one backpack; for one moment his weight was on both his legs, not just on the good one.

In the same moment he opened it, Shafer placed a precise kick with his foot – into his thigh, where the bandages were the thickest.

Eliot stumbled with a grunt of pain; his turn was swift and he almost made that step between them, but his wounded leg gave way as if cut off beneath him. He fell to his knees. Schafer had time for one more hit to finish him off; anyone else would aim for the head, but he knew what to do - his foot slammed into his bleeding shoulder with a vicious force.

He expected him to simply topple aside after that – fuck, he _had t_o go down after that – but Eliot just took the hit, swayed back, and remained upward. And then his left hand flashed up and forward, catching his leg and pushed him off balance, backwards.

Schafer landed onto the cart, but it didn't ease his fall, he slammed with his back and his head onto something sharp and hard. The impact stole his breath and he just slid down the bags, with a ringing in his head.

And Eliot was getting up – swaying, his right arm hanging as a useless ballast, but unstoppable – and Schafer could only stare at his ferocious eyes, unable to move, to get up.

Eliot's fingers closed around his throat and he pulled him up in one move. "What the hell are you-"

"You!" A yell behind Eliot's back was followed with quick footsteps. Two men. Eliot let out one low growl and threw him onto the bags - his head clonked on some metal again, and the ringing was deafening– and he turned towards the new danger.

Schafer groped around him until he set himself upright again, upon his feet, a frantic panic swirling in his head. Eliot slammed into the two men, and all three of them ended up on the floor. He had only seconds.

He had to find a gun before Eliot finished them, and return to kill him. He dug through the bags, reaching for the SW letters, but his fingers felt only fabric, not any weapons.

He blinked, clearing his vision. Three bulletproof vests stood in the middle of a square made of bags, tied with duct tape, forming a fortress. He quickly tore apart two of the closest backpacks; yes, there were safes from the jewelry stores, but they weren't open.

They were also bulletproof.

They made a wall which would be safe for anyone inside, even in a machine-gun cross-fire – for someone small, who would be completely covered by three large Kevlar vests.

He glanced at the ongoing fight; Eliot smashed one of his attackers into the wall, but the other grabbed him from behind, his arm wound around his neck. The other was getting back up.

Time slowed down around him. Eliot _would_ take Mickey to the exchange – but everything that Sophie and Parker had done wasn't for _their_ plan – it was only to make sure the little girl was as safe as possible. The bulletproof safes were stacked like the bricks in that wall.

He looked at the fight again; the second attacker was placing hit after hit at Eliot; his right arm hung dead, the one who was holding him tightening the pressure around his throat. He had seconds left.

All three vests were tied together so Mickey could cover herself with it. There wasn't a fourth one. There wasn't one for Eliot to wear.

Schafer took one small safe, aimed, and threw it at the head of the man who was holding Eliot in a choke hold.

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Eliot only needed one more hit to finish off this one who was currently pummeling him. His left hand was disabling the man behind him to cut off the blood to his brain, and he held his right arm entirely immobile, as if he wasn't able to move it at all. The man before him wasn't expecting _that_ hand to move when he stopped for a second to take another breath. Eliot slammed his fist into his throat; it wouldn't kill him, but he wouldn't be able to do anything but choke and writhe, trying to gasp in air, for a few minutes.

The same moment he hit him, something smashed the head of the one who'd been strangling him, and his hold eased. He knocked him with his elbow and turned to Schafer.

"I'll rip your limbs apart, you damn idiot!" His words, whispered through his sore throat, came out gravelly and dreadfully low; Schafer's face lost the last remnants of color. The rage pushed him forward and kept him on his feet though everything around him swirled in a blurry whirlpool.

"Stop right there!" The cop took a few steps back, putting the cart between them. He stepped right into Parker's grasp; the thief just appeared there, out of nowhere, and her fingers clutched at Schafer's throat.

The cop _could_ deal with Parker, but he stayed immobile.

Eliot came closer, and changed his mind; Parker's eyes, wide open but empty, were piercing the cop's skull and her smile sent a wave of unease even through him. Schafer must've been paralyzed with fear.

"Let him go, Parker."

"I saw what he did to you," she said, her fingers not easing a bit. Schafer made a choked sound. "He cut the call, we couldn't reach you. Hardison is going half crazy, he sent us to find-"

"Let him talk." Eliot put his hand on her shoulder; nothing else, no sudden movements, just a slight touch. "He _did_ hit the other guy, remember?"

Her smile grew wider, but her fingers relaxed, finally. Schafer gasped and clutched his throat, coughing.

"Alright," the cop croaked. "I _will_ help you." He took a few deeper breaths. "Really help, this time."

Eliot felt his shoulder. The damn thing screamed with fiery bursts, and his gaze at Schafer reflected his every thought. The cop had enough decency to at least look uncomfortable.

Eliot met his eyes – the cop returned the gaze squarely. "I simply changed my mind, that's all. Take it or leave it, I won't elaborate on anything." Schafer took out the phone and hit speed dial. "We're back, Hardison. And Parker is here, too." He listened to the other side, squinting.

Parker touched her ear, and Eliot knew Hardison heard it all through her line, and now was telling Schafer everything he thought about this.

The double door that led to the terminal suddenly opened. Sophie held Mickey's hand, they approached in a hurry. The grifter glanced at Schafer, too, but she didn't comment.

Parker picked the girl up and put her in the middle of the cart. "You explain to her the procedure while you head for the exchange point," she told him. "Sophie and I are on Natalie now. Move, the twenty minutes you told Herbert are closing to an end, he'll become impatient."

With that, and with one double glare at Schafer, they both disappeared towards the terminal. The door after them clicked shut and locked.

Mickey rummaged through the bags, and under the vests, giggling away in her fort. "You have a chariot now, princess," Eliot whispered to the girl. He had to lean onto the bags to keep himself on his feet. Closing his eyes helped to stop the spinning of their faces, returning them into only one. He forced the smile and continued, "I will tell you what to do, and you will have to listen to me, okay? You remember what to do when evil witch shows up at your door with poisoned apples?"

"Call 911 and report an armed it-intu-intru-der!"

"Excellent. I'll tell you who the witch is."

"Okay. You will drive me to mommy?"

"No, she will come back to you later."

Schafer watched him without a word.

"Give me the phone and headset," he told the cop.

"Why? I won't cut it off again, and I won't-"

"You ain't going in there with me, you'll stay behind, in the dark. I have to be able to hear the others." Speaking was tiresome. He had to clear his head, and get himself together before he reached the exchange point, or this thing would end very, very badly.

"Then tell me your plan. Parker did the SWAT vehicles, and Sophie jewelry shops – but only for this protection – this _isn't_ your real plan, it's just preparation. I can't do anything unless I know what you are actually doing."

He waved at him to start pushing the cart and resisted the urge to just sit down on it with Mickey. "While we walk. And only the basics, so we don't have your virtue and truth aiming at our heads again."

"Fuck you. That's the only thing worth fighting for, worth working for! A law isn't something you arrange to suit your needs! Either you obey it or not, there aren't any grey areas!"

"You're a naïve fool." Eliot stopped and reached in to his pocket. He handed the cop all the bullets for his gun. "But I like you. Naïve fools can actually change the world. Now shut up for a sec, will ya'?"

He put his headset on and dialed Nate's phone. His fingers trembled and he steadied his voice to erase the tremble from within it.

"Herbert, we're here. Prepare the transaction, I'll be there in a minute."

"Everything is ready, we're waiting."

He cut the call and took his jacket; it would hide the blood on his shirt for the first few minutes. Later, it wouldn't be important. "Mickey, you have a big black helmet under your feet. Would you try it for me?"

The girl peered out at him and nodded. She took off her cap, and for one moment they just stared at her; Schafer stopped pushing the cart.

Her hair was divided down the middle, and tangled into the two awful, plate-like things above each ear; she smiled as a miniature princess Leia: adorable and horrible at the same time.

They exchanged their stupefied glances; Schafer bit his lip and shook his head. Then they simply continued their slow walk.

Yeah, it was better not to say anything._ Dammit Hardison._

_._


	15. Chapter 15

TRTJ – Chapter 15

Author's Note: The end.

Working on the first chapter of a new story, though. Stay tuned, it'll be published by Christmas.

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The exact moment when Eliot opened the door of the hall where they waited for him was the best time for Nate to remember the hidden bottle he had snatched from Herbert's office when they took him. He almost smirked at the irony, and decided it would be useful if he needed a diversion. Or a weapon. Or simply a sip to warm him up.

Eliot stood at the door for a moment, studying a big letter U in front of him. Nate, Herbert and his thugs all made a semi-circle, waiting for him to step into it.

De Bruin and his five men were behind them, in a similar curved line, but spread wider.

Nate did everything he could to twist Herbert's mind from _Kill them all_ to _They can be useful alive and bring me more games_, but it all stopped here now. He couldn't do anything else.

Eliot's gaze swept over him in a quick inventory, and glazed a little when he noticed the bottle. Nate cheerfully raised the bottle in salute, mimicking his drunken wave to the cops in motel. _Not hammered_. Eliot ignored his wave and continued his studying of the hall.

Nate watched him breathlessly, searching for any sign that would ease his worry. Eliot's eyes narrowed when he saw de Bruin, and Nate slowly exhaled all his fears. If Eliot was really surprised to see the Dutchman here, his face would be absolutely blank. That, if nothing else, they got it right. Yet, once again, Nate cursed the storm and all the shit that had brought them all here without their earbuds – this deadly dance couldn't be finished well if they danced to different tunes.

The pilot jacket was a nice touch. Four captain stripes added a dose of authority – but this time, Eliot Spencer didn't need that extra touch.

He just stood at the door, nothing else, and all their eyes were drawn to him. They knew who he was, and there was no need to fade into the background as a lower level thug, a role he perfected to the level of invisibility. The majority of his roles on the team intentionally muted and hid his character and power, and this was a reversed con – he simply stopped doing that.

Nate hid a smile, watching the thugs take one small step back when Eliot made his first step into the hall, though they were separated by dozens of feet of empty space.

Nate also took a step back, hunching his shoulders, lowering and muting his own presence. They had to be in a balance now, and he was only a shady merchant, supervised by a world famous retrieval specialist.

"Look who's here," Eliot's slow drawl rolled across the empty space. "Hello, de Bruin."

Nate turned his head to glance at the Dutchman. He sat to the side and behind him, still on a runway sweeper. His raised foot rested on the tire, and he was leaning forward, his elbow on that raised knee. His five thugs weren't around him anymore. They were spread out in a semi-circle behind all of them, covering the entire back side of the hall. And they all faced Eliot.

"Good you're here, Mr. Spencer," Herbert said. He didn't come forward, though. "We are ready to do business. Where are my girls?"

"No need to hurry. I talked with my employers about this situation, and the deal is changed. It seems the Japanese are extremely eager to have this man back – and I will get more money _for_ him, than _from_ him."

"Our deal is the girls for his rocket launcher sequence code."

Eliot stood silent for one second. Then he turned around and went out through the door. That was so unexpected that no thug had time to react, or Herbert to give some order. They all stared at the double door swaying after him.

Nate checked de Bruin's thugs. They were a few feet closer to the middle of the hall.

The door swung again, pushed open by a luggage cart with lots of bags on it. Nate studied Eliot's movements now. Though he pushed the cart with both hands, only one was doing the work, and his limp was almost visible in the moment he stopped pushing and walked past the cart.

"Show yourself, darling," Eliot said. Mickey peered from the middle of the cart, smiled at Nate when she saw him, and hid again.

"That's one girl."

"Did you really think I would walk with kidnapped girls through the airport where the kidnapping happened, full of people who are searching for them? The other one is hidden, and she will come when I close the first deal. One girl for my money. The other for Baker."

Nate watched Herbert's face. Negotiating with a lunatic was tricky business; none of them could say how he would react. The m_ore games _bait Nate had thrown to him was still hanging before his eyes, but Herbert didn't bite it yet. For all they knew, killing them both here was still an option. Eliot needed more info about this side.

"The situation changed, Spencer," Nate said, taking a few steps closer to Herbert. "I'm negotiating with these gentlemen about future cooperation."

"Yeah, you sold me out, I know," Eliot said. "Ya think I forgot you told me de Bruin left? And now I'm here, drawn directly into the hands of a guy who'd like to see me dead."

"Dead?" de Bruin finally spoke. "Not dead, Spencer. I'll be more than happy to keep you alive… for a long time."

Nate suppressed a chill that rushed up his spine.

"Scary." Eliot darted him one unimpressed look, then ignored him completely, turning to Herbert. "Keep your poodle on the leash, Herbert, or you ain't seeing the second brat any time soon. I ain't stupid – I plan to leave this shit alive."

Herbert was brewing inside, and Nate had to stop that before it reached an explosion. In the Signia building, he'd had a bottle to throw at the wall – here he had men with guns ready to shoot at his first word.

"Let's start this, Herbert," Nate said. "No, I will start – by giving you the code you're after. After we're all happy with that, we can see what's next."

"Yeah, do that." Herbert's voice sounded strained. One quick check of his eyes told Nate he reacted right on time. His eyes were moving too fast, from his thugs to Eliot, and back, and back, as the tantrum brewed stronger. "Spencer, bring the girl closer."

Eliot didn't move. Nate held his breath; Eliot couldn't know, he didn't see how unstable Herbert was, and if he expected from him a reasonable negotiation, this would end before it started. Nobody would hear gunshots, the storm would swallow every sound.

Nate watched Herbert's eyelid twitch in its first tic, as the seconds passed.

"Do as he said, Eliot." Use of his first name added an accent. _Do it immediately_. A rush of tension went through Herbert's thugs; they were also tuned to the nuances in their boss's moods.

Behind all of them, de Bruin's men took two more steps closer.

Finally, Eliot rolled the cart closer to the middle of the hall. Nate was the only one who could see the change in his posture when he got closer to the semi-circle of armed men that spread in front of him. His moves seemed to be slower, as a tension crept into his muscles. The outer left and right thugs were now almost lined with him, covering his sides.

Nate tried to look at this from the hitter's perspective. The most dangerous were the ones in front of him, around Herbert; those on his sides couldn't shoot at him – every miss would kill those on the opposite side.

But they all kept their distance. Eliot couldn't reach any of them. Especially not de Bruin's five. Their outer semi-circle was controlling all of them, out of reach even of Herbert's men. There was at least five meters of empty space around Eliot on all sides. And the girl there with him, in the middle.

"Before I give you password for the code," Nate said, "I want to know if you're considering my other offers, Herbert."

"I am." Herbert came five more steps closer, and stood at the other side of the cart. Nate followed him as well, to be as close as possible to the small group around the luggage cart.

Three of his men followed him with guns ready. "But only after I have both of them in my hands." He smiled at Mickey. "I am your mother's boss. She works for me. I will take you to her. You have to tell me where your sister is so we can take her too. You wouldn't leave her alone, would you?"

Nate gritted his teeth in anger; Mickey's face blossomed in hope, and she stood up.

Eliot didn't move at the other side of the cart. "Mickey, that man is the evil witch I told you about," he said softly. "You have to hide again."

"Oh, evil kitty!" Mickey turned around like a spry little bird in her nest of bags, but she didn't hide. Nate saw Eliot frowning when she took off her Hello Kitty backpack from her back instead, diving in it. She dug out a cell phone. "911 – an armed intr-"

Herbert snatched the phone from her before she could press anything. "You bugged the girl with _a phone_?" he said. Eliot's frown deepened. "What kind of idiot do you think I am?" He checked the phone and shook his head. "Let me guess… this open call is going where? To your people who are listening, or recording it?" He pressed the button to end the conversation and threw the phone on the bags. "I had enough of this. I want the other girl, _now_."

Eliot crossed his arms. Nate hoped he had de Bruin's knife somewhere ready. "You will have the second girl when my money, me, and Baker leave this place, Herbert," Eliot said. "You aren't in a position to demand too much."

Herbert choked in surprise. He waved around him. "De Bruin has five men. My men are surrounding you, and more of them are all around this place, covering the entire hangar. I will kill you both, right here, right now, and still have enough of them to track your people, hunt them down and get the other girl. Because all of you are forgetting one very important thing. I can get what I want from Natalie Johnstone with only one girl, you stupid fuck, I don't need both of them for blackmail! Do you think she will risk refusing to do what I want if I threaten her child, even just one?!"

"Oops." That was Eliot's only reply.

"Herbert." A voice behind them said softly. Nate looked to the side; de Bruin was smiling. "Step back. Now."

Nate held Eliot's eyes, but he couldn't read anything from his gaze. The stalling part was done – and he had no means to find out what the others were doing. If they were doing anything at all. If this wasn't just a desperate improvisation on their part. If…

"What?" Herbert twitched again.

De Bruin waved with his phone. "It took some time to dig up why Eliot Spencer went off the grid and disappeared from our circles. He found a new crew. This man isn't Tom Baker. His name is Nate Ford, and he can't give you any more games. The only game he plays is with your mind – he already did that. So step back. Now. Let me handle this."

"Is that true?" Herbert looked at him. Nate raised his eyebrows in a slow, lazy move.

"Of course not," he said. "But it's interesting. How much do you trust de Bruin, anyway? Why is he trying to put a hold on your eventual future plans with me? A plain rivalry, or he does he have some other agenda?"

Herbert's gaze swiveled to de Bruin.

De Bruin raised his hand; his five men aimed their guns. "See what I'm talking about?"

Nate let his smile spread wider. "Herbert, I find it extremely odd that he dug up that information now, of all times. How long has he known Spencer is in the game? And only now he decides to tell it to you, when you said you _are_ considering my offer?"

"If he says one more word, shoot him," de Bruin said, coming closer.

Nate stopped talking. He shrugged, brought the bottle to his mouth, and took one sip. But Eliot laughed, and their guns turned towards him.

"You _are_ being played, Herbert," Eliot said. "But not by us. We only want money. We delivered what you wanted. Did he?"

Herbert's thugs followed their boss's eyes to de Bruin, and their guns did, too. For one short moment the two groups were aiming at each other, but de Bruin wasn't Herbert. His smile was lazier than Nate's was. And his men were behind all of them, strategically spread out, and covering the entire scene.

"You have one girl – use her to press Natalie Johnstone," de Bruin said to Herbert. "I'm taking Spencer with me. You do whatever you want to do with this Baker, Ford, whoever he is. You can even do business with him, if you're so stupid as to trust him. But I'm leaving. Now."

"Not gonna happen," Eliot said. He didn't move, didn't do anything that would change the situation, and this time, all the damn guns were aimed at him. Yet no one took a step closer to him, not even de Bruin's henchmen.

De Bruin nodded to his men to come forward. "If you don't want to get within his reach, shoot at his knees and drag him away. Just do it now. I've had enough of this charade." Nate stared at his face – there was almost a _feeling_ emerging on that calm features, but he couldn't nail it down.

"Okay, I'll go willingly." Eliot's smile turned into a grin. "No problem at all. I will even call my people to bring the other girl here, free of charge. You can do whatever you want with them. But Herbert won't allow you to take me away. He would rather kill you."

"Why should I do that?" Herbert said.

"The girls are useless. You can have them. Because I have Natalie Johnstone – and de Bruin is the only thing that stands between you and her."

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It wasn't easy to concentrate on Natalie Johnstone while Eliot and Nate danced their deadly play in front of the guns, but Sophie always could keep her real feelings at bay. She showed only a dazzling smile when she came back to Natalie, with two cups of coffee for her thugs. Nobody could tell what she was listening to through her headset.

"Here, gentlemen, something warm to keep you awake. How nice of you to keep your co-worker company in this long wait – and also, to endure our long chit-chat."

They smiled back and took the cups. She waved away their thanks and perched herself on the chair beside Natalie, the same chair she'd sat in before. The thugs were just on the edge of hearing; they couldn't understand any quieter word.

"It is time," she said to the young woman. "Until now, it was important that they believed you were still buying their story of them having your girls. They didn't move you, or send more men here because of that. But now we have to go. Pay attention now."

A Muslim woman walked by their group, and glaringly scooted away from the thugs, making a wider circle. She wore hijab – Sophie's blue scarf, part of the motel loot, totally incorrectly turned into a makeshift niqab, to cover her face. Parker didn't have the necessary skill and knowledge to make it look as it should look, but the thugs were the last people who would notice that was weird.

They followed her with their eyes all the way to the toilets for women, and commented something nasty. Parker reached the front door of the toilets, on the opposite wall; she adjusted her scarf, giving a sign to Sophie that toilets were empty, and closed the door after her.

"Parker will give you a phone with a headset, and brief you in. There'll be many unknown voices in your ear, but one familiar - we gave a phone to the cop who is the lead investigator on your case; he is working with us now."

"Lieutenant Schafer?" Natalie smiled – one of the rare smiles Sophie had seen on her face. It transformed her face from a worried, glazed mask into a living beauty. It also erased the last remnants of hesitation and suspicion.

"One more important question. Is there a third man watching over you? Somewhere around, not showing himself – maybe posing as a passenger, or an airport worker?"

"No, they didn't talk with anybody, except via phone. We are alone here. Why?"

"Just a thought, nothing more. Now, you go," Sophie said to her. "Parker will tell you what to do next."

She took the magazine and opened it. Natalie got up and motioned to the toilets; one of the thugs gave his coffee to the other one and followed her. He leant against the wall, a step from the door.

"_This man isn't Tom Baker. His name is Nate Ford, and he can't give you any more games. The only game he plays is with your mind – he already did that. So step back. Now. Let me handle this_," De Bruin's voice in Sophie's ear said softly; the memory of that voice just one step away from her sent a shiver up her spine. Their luck was changing – but Parker also heard that, and she would hurry up.

"I'm clearing out from the passenger lounge," Hardison said in a hurry. "Schafer, wait for me in the duty-free complex. Parker, direct Natalie there and then go do your stuff."

"What stuff again?" Schafer asked. "I will-"

They all shut up when Eliot laughed. "_You are being played, Herbert_," he said. "_But not by us. We only want money. We delivered what you wanted. Did he_?"

Sophie listened to the sound of that laugh. Not time for panic yet. She kept her gaze on the magazine, checking the toilet door only out of the corner of her eye.

"You can start, Sophie," Parker finally whispered. "Eliot, fifteen seconds."

The Muslim woman came out of the toilet. Natalie was shorter than Parker and the thief's chador covered her from head to toe, which was even better. Sophie doubted those thugs would have noticed the same shoes on their hostage and on the Muslim woman, but now they didn't have to worry about that. She passed by them the same way Parker did the first time, and also scooted.

Sophie closed the magazine and threw it on the chair. "I'm going to buy some snacks," she said to the thug when the toilet door opened again, and a perky blonde with a pony tail came out. "Do you want some while you wait for Natalie?"

"No ma'am, thank you."

She smiled and went after the Muslim woman who disappeared at the end of the closed area.

"We are out, Eliot," she whispered into her headset, leaving the two thugs to wait for the toilet door to open again.

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Lieutenant Schafer paced between two glistening shop windows, at the far end of the duty-free shop section. The double door that divided that part from the hangar was open – he put a piece of wood to prevent it from closing. What the hell was Parker doing now? They didn't reveal all the parts of their plan to him, and that was driving him nuts. How could he react if he didn't know when they encountered some trouble?

A gun – a loaded gun – lay heavily in his pocket with his badge, reminding him of the setup they encountered in the hangar. He should be there, not here, waiting for... quick steps interrupted his musings, and a whirl of blue fabric rushed into the corridor. Natalie Johnstone took off all her layers, throwing them to the ground.

"Where are they?" She was breathless. "Take me to them!"

"Wait, ma'am – Manny is with Hardison, he'll bring her here, and Mickey is deeper in there with the rest of them. They are negotiating with Herbert-"

Before he could say anything more, she gasped and stopped, looking wildly around her. Why did pissed off women always look so gorgeous?

"Herbert," her voice sounded low and throaty.

She turned on her heel and sprinted through the opened door to the hangar.

He swallowed a curse and ran after her.

"Eliot, whatever you're doing, finish it!" he gasped running. "Natalie is headed your way – I'll stop her, but you have to hurry up! Hardison?"

"Typing as we walk. I have everything set up. You're good to go."

He caught up with Natalie after a few turns in the corridors, when she lost count of the turning points and faced the wall.

"Now." He tried to calm his breathing down. "You'll stay right here, with me. You must stay away from Herbert, or you'll ruin everything and kill us all. I know where we are – we'll stay as close to them as we can, and we'll take Mickey as soon as they are done."

"I'll kill that son of a bitch!"

"No ma'am, you won't, and I didn't hear it. Now walk with me." He took her hand and put it around his elbow, as if walking her on the promenade, trying to smile. "This is a part that Eliot cleared before. In this next corridor you'll see a rare species, called a Crawling Thug." He led her, step by step, hoping he would ease her anger. Hell hath no fury like mother with a child in danger, indeed.

He tried not to show her his surprise; his words about a hibernating thug died on his lips when they entered deeper into that place. There was no one on the floor in the corner where Eliot, he was sure, had knocked one of them out. And no sign of his gun, either.

"Eliot, your cleared escape route might not be safe now," he said under his breath. But when he heard the voices from the hangar, he knew Eliot couldn't think about it now.

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"You think you are so clever now?" Herbert's voice grew louder as his anger rose. Nate saw saliva gathering at the corner of his mouth, and put the bottle in his pocket. He wasn't sure what he could do with his empty hands, though – but it felt better. More prepared for whatever was coming.

"Mickey, _down_." Eliot's words came cold and dry; the girl obeyed instantly.

"Do you know why you were summoned here?" Herbert continued. "Because the police that are investigating the kidnapping have you recorded, and SWAT teams are just one call away. You did manage to pass through them and get to this point, but that's it. If I kill you now, your people will take Natalie away – but if I call the SWAT teams, they will track your people down, knowing they are here, and free Natalie – and she will again be forced to be silent, because I have this one. You lose either way – you're done!"

"Or you can give him to me for fifteen minutes," de Bruin said when Herbert stopped to take a breath. "He will be glad to give Natalie back to you, trust me." The Dutchman was smiling now. Nate finally managed to decipher the feeling he saw on de Bruin's face, growing clearer all this time – it was hunger.

"No, I've had enough," Herbert pulled his phone. Nate bit his lip. The number he dialed was ready, on speed dial. He spoke into the phone. "I have to report a child kidnapper cornered in the middle hall of the auxiliary transport hangar by the terminal. He has one of the kidnapped girls with him and the other one is somewhere near! Hurry up! I think they grabbed their mother too! He is armed. Send people to find the other girl and the mother! Help us, we can't hold him for a long!" He ended the call not waiting for a reply, and turned to Nate. His eyes were two glazed dots, moving so fast it seemed they vibrated. "Now," he breathed. "Give me the password."

Eliot leant against the bags with one elbow – fuck, it was his left side, he actually swayed and stopped that – and flashed one derisive smile at de Bruin.

Nate took his phone and typed, not saying a word.

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"This isn't good. This isn't good." Schafer knew his low murmuring scared Natalie, but it served its purpose. She most certainly wouldn't run away again. She actually clutched at his hand more tightly when he stopped. They were too close to the exchange point now.

"SWAT teams are at the other end of runway," he explained. "They will be here in less than five minutes. Those bastards never gave me the security feed recording, claiming the terrorist threat was a priority, an alleged kidnapping was of less importance, so I don't know if they have their faces. But even if they don't, this might be a massacre."

"Many things can happen in five minutes," Natalie said. "Take me there, Schafer, I can tell them-"

"No, out of question, too dangerous. If Herbert lays his hands on you, he will kill them immediately."

"Freeze!"

Schafer froze. A black clad group rushed into the corridor, white SWAT letters filling a space around them.

What the hell happened to five minutes? Herbert called them less than a half a minute ago.

"Lieutenant Schafer, Phoenix P.D.!" He raised his hands in the air. "My badge is in my pocket!"

"Yeah, I know you. We talked," one of the black helmets with visors said. "Stay out of our way, and keep the civilian out of danger." He made a circular movement with his hand, and the men cleared out, continuing to their target.

"Wait! The man who called you is-"

"We are not here because of the call – we have an intruder alert in the airport security feed, somebody is hacking his way through security protocols, assessing all our data. This is a matter of National Security now. Stay. _Away_!" The last SWAT member ran after his group.

Fuck. _Hardison, what the hell have you done? _There was no way for him to keep them out of jail, if they survived this at all. _Stay away my ass_.

"Hardison, Eliot, did you hear this? Get the hell out of there, if you can! SWAT E.T.A. half a minute!"

"Yeah, I heard you," Hardison said right behind his back, and he jumped up. His nerves tilted.

"Mommy!" Manny's cry echoed through the corridors, and he stepped back when Natalie fell on her knees to embrace the little tank that slammed into her. He watched that desperate embrace – okay, he had to admit, it warmed his heart – but he turned away from their hugs, kisses, and breathless, muttered words.

Hardison face was spread in a wide grin, but he still typed, not even looking at his tablet.

"They are on your tail, just like you said, you idiot! Stop grinning, they are about to rush in there and shoot Eliot as a kidnapper! Whatthefuck are you-"

"Yeah, just like I said," Hardison said.

"What?" He blinked. "Look, stay here with Natalie and Manny, I'll go there and try to calm the situation down – we can think of something when-" He bent down and patted Natalie on her shoulder. "Natalie, stay here with Manny."

"No!" Manny wriggled her way out of her mother's hands and looked up at him. "Smart and beautiful princesses don't wait for a prince to save them!" For a moment, Natalie had the same blank look in her eyes as he knew he had. "They jump with rope and save themselves!" Manny said to Natalie.

Hardison's laugh was one of the most inappropriate things he had heard in his entire life. His mind swirled – waiting to hear the gunshots from the exchange hall – not able to place this ease and grin into any frame.

"Look," Hardison finally said. "We'll all go, slowly. You have your headset on, and now just walk and listen carefully."

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Nate managed to buy time with his extremely slow typing; he sent Herbert a wrong link once, waited until his anger calmed, then sent it again, slowly giving him one letter at the time. Herbert was so distraught by the time he managed to type the password in, that he almost dropped his tablet.

His thugs fidgeted with their weapons, ready to shoot. No, at this point, they were more than eager to finally shoot.

"Now, tell me what you think," he said with his best car salesman voice, at the same time pulling the bottle from his pocket. He didn't hear Herbert's reply while he checked the code – he was too busy smirking at Eliot's glare at his direction.

Eliot was still comfortably resting with his good shoulder on the bags. It took the weight off of his wounded leg, helped in regaining the balance he was visibly losing with every passing second, and Mickey was within his reach. But the hitter darted him only one nasty glare, then continued to look past him, at de Bruin.

Nate came closer to Herbert to take a look at the code, radiating helpfulness all the way, using that to glance back and aside, to the Dutchman. He was a few steps further back in the hall now, closer to the group of normal-sized doors that led to the exit.

Eliot noticed that too, because he smiled at him. "What do you think about symmetry, de Bruin?" he said. "Women love proportional features on their men – do you want me to help you with the other side of your face?" His eyes fell on Nate for a second. "Though, I forgot to bring your knife with me when we left." He shrugged with one shoulder, very carefully.

Oh, that was a nice move. Nate almost smiled when he caught the message and understood what Eliot had done.

But de Bruin didn't take the bait; he stayed where he was.

"Call records from the last ten minutes would be a fascinating thing to investigate," Eliot said speaking to Nate, but he knew it was a message for Hardison. They needed to find out who, and where, the man was that de Bruin called. "Though we don't have time for that," Eliot finished. His eyes lost focus, and he listened to something that added a new dose of tension to his already rigid attention. "We don't have time at all." Nate sighed and took another long sip from the bottle, this time because he needed it, not just for show.

"What is this?" Herbert howled, literally howled, and his face distorted into wild rage. His thugs jumped up at that sound, their guns going from Eliot to Nate, all their nerves at the point of breaking. Nate returned the bottle to the pocket – very slowly – and raised both his hands to shoulder height. The whiskey made a small wave in his stomach, fueled with fear. "Let me take a look," he purred. "What's wrong with the code?"

"Did you think I wouldn't recognize Natalie's code? This is the helicopter sequence she worked on! Where are Corso Games' rocket launchers?"

"C'mon, I couldn't just carry them around unprotected – they are implemented in her code, hidden. You have to extract-"

"That's it!" Herbert waved his hand.

Nate saw a warning in Eliot's sudden tensing, but it was too late to evade the hit – the gun slammed at his head from behind, sending him crashing to his knees. "Kill them both!" Herbert spat above him. "Take the girl and spread out! Find the others! Find Natalie!"

For one moment, loud banging and yells blurred into an undecipherable white noise; Nate tried to clear his head, but shaking it only made it worse. Dark patches before his eyes took the shape of many black clad legs, and he raised his head.

A group of SWAT cops burst from the passages behind Eliot, spreading into the room, yelling orders.

"That's him!" Herbert's shriek pierced painfully through his ears. Herbert was pointing at Eliot, but there was no need for that – the hitter had already been thrown at the bags and was held there, black men covering him entirely. Mickey's screaming was the last thing Nate heard before the black mass rushed over him and pinned him to the ground.

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Schafer counted thirty-six long seconds after the cacophony covered all the sounds in his headset. He sprinted, leaving Hardison to keep an eye on Manny and Natalie. Nobody was shooting yet, he repeated while he ran, counting the damn seconds.

He burst into the hall almost slipping over his own feet – but the sight he encountered instantly calmed him down. This was a raid – he had been in many, he knew the drill, knew all the procedures.

Herbert's men were all lined up with their hands on their heads, their guns on the floor. De Bruin and his five were held at gunpoint, in the back of the hall, their hands also raised.

But it was the small group in the middle that was important.

The SWAT commander – and Schafer couldn't remember his name if his life depended on it – was with Eliot and Nate, with two of his guys, one with a laptop.

"They are under my jurisdiction!" Schafer said hurrying closer. "This is my kidnapping case, it has nothing to do with terrorism! Let me take them-"

"Give us a minute, will ya'?"

He opened his mouth, but Eliot, who was being held with Nate, standing with his back against the bags, nodded at him. He snapped his mouth shut.

"Yeah, give a man a minute," Hardison said in their ears.

"But they tracked the hack-" he whispered that, yet even a whisper was too dangerous. "I mean," he said normally, "you said a minute ago someone hacked through security protocols – I can assure you that- just don't believe anything this guy said, his call was-" Eliot cleared his throat at that and he stopped.

"What part of give us a minute did you not understand?" The Commander nodded to his man with the laptop.

"And we got him," the guy said. Only then did Schafer see he had Herbert's tablet plugged in.

"What?" Herbert said.

"Confirmed. This is the tablet that entered the security protocols. I'll seal it and send it for a thorough examination, but this is enough."

"Keep your mouth shut, Schafer," Hardison said. "Nate plugged my USB into the Signia network in Herbert's office and gave me an entrance. Herbert's tablet is connected to it – I simply walked through everything and redirected my hacking through his network. For them, everything that happened came from that thing he held in his hands until a minute ago."

"This is simply a misunderstanding, but I'll deal with it later," Herbert said. "I am here because of those two men, who kidnapped the daughters of my employee, and came to her boss to ask for money for them. Thank God I had my Security ready – those gentlemen who you have at gunpoint – and I lured them here knowing I could count on your timely response."

"Not a word, Schafer," Hardison said right in time to force him to shut his mouth _again_. The Commander darted one odd look at him, and he just smiled, with his lips firmly pressed.

"But Commander…" Eliot said, almost whispered. "I was the one who called you to help us." He slowly raised his left hand; the guns followed that move. "I will slowly pull out my phone – you can check my call records."

"And that." Hardison's voice had an unhealthy amount of gloating in it. "That is my specialty. Eliot's phone now has the right number, while Herbert's has… someone else's. Wait for it…"

"No way," Herbert gave his phone to the laptop guy. "I want _this_ phone to be taken as evidence."

The laptop guy checked Herbert's phone while they all waited.

After fifteen seconds he let out a loud hiss.

"What?" the Commander said.

"The first call about the bomb came from this number! It was a woman, but this is that phone!"

"Sophie's number," Hardison said. "She called yesterday to make sure the planes would be grounded until they found a non-existing bomb. Oh, did we forget to mention to you there isn't a terrorism threat at all, that we made that up? Our bad."

"Right," Schafer mumbled through the gritted teeth. Eliot had an aura of innocence five feet wide around him.

"This is ridiculous," Herbert said. "I don't know what they have done, but you have all the evidence against them you need. Those two," he motioned to Nate and Eliot, "are the ones recorded taking away the girls in that white van. I wasn't even in the airport when that happened!"

Hardison cleared his throat. "In fact, I erased us all from the feed. SWAT has no idea who took the girls – though I didn't have time to make a manipulation with Herbert as a big bad villain. Natalie, you can go now, now it's your turn."

Eliot didn't say anything to Herbert, but Nate – who was looking nearly absent, rubbing the back side of his head – stopped that and looked at Herbert with his head slightly tilted to the left.

"Good to know you know that," Nate said. "You do know a lot."

Schafer watched those words reflect in Eliot's eyes – they narrowed a little - and stop Hardison's low mumble in his ear. But Natalie's arrival diverted them all, and he stepped forward.

"This is Natalie Johnstone, the girls' mother," he quickly said to the Commander. "She is with me, and those two are her friends who helped us in the investigation. When they will be able to leave? I'll take all the statements you need, and our investigations will be coordinated. Don't worry about that."

"I heard what you said," Natalie stood before Herbert. She had her phone in her hand. "Is this that white van you're talking about? The same picture of it, crashed in the storm, in the desert, that your men showed me to convince me you still had my kids, so I wouldn't tell anything to cops?!" She turned to the Commander then; Schafer couldn't tell if her teary eyes were an act, or if she was really crying. "He took my girls to force me to leave the country, to the place where he could control my work, take all my code, and kill me easily after that. And he… oh dear God, who did _this_?!"

Mickey jumped out from her fort when she heard her, and everybody saw her hair.

"Herbert did," both Schafer and Eliot said at the same time.

SWAT cops might've been famous for their quick reactions in danger, but there was no stopping Natalie's fist now; she gripped her phone tighter and slammed her fist, with the phone, into Herbert's face, knocking him down. "You bastard!"

"Everybody calm down!" the Commander roared an order. "Ma'am, you confirm those two are your friends, and they had nothing to do with kidnapping of your daughters?"

"Of course – where do I have to sign to say that? They were staying at my place with their wives when this man's people came and took me to an urgent business trip yesterday – I managed to send them a message about what was really going on, and they came here to brief and help Lieutenant Schafer. If they-"

A gunshot echoed through the hangar from somewhere around them, and renewed tension stirred the cops. Schafer almost went with them, when the Commander sent three of them to investigate, but Hardison stopped him. "Everything's fine. That's Parker. She and Sophie are wrapping this up."

"Whatwrappingup?" he mumbled under his breath.

"They dragged the thugs Eliot took down," Hardison quickly said. "Along with their guns, and tied them up in the robbed duty-free stores, with enough loot around them. She fired the gun to attract the cops to them. Okay, Eliot, you can finish this."

"Commander," Eliot said. "This guy isn't as silly as he seems – he might be crazy, but his operation almost paid off. We stumbled upon this hangar by chance, playing on a hunch, and that's when he caught us. We interrupted this," Eliot opened one of the bags, revealing the safes from the jewelry shops. "I think the rest of his guys are still back there – he mentioned this was just the first package, two more are to follow. He made that terrorism threat knowing that the shops would be closed and sealed, ready for them to take everything. The kidnapping was just a side job."

"It will look like they fought amongst themselves," Hardison added. "And one final touch, look what's on all the screens at the airport, instead of movies." Herbert's voice replaced Hardison's.

"_I can get what I want from Natalie Johnstone with only one girl, you stupid fuck, I don't need both of them for blackmail! Do you think she will risk refusing to do what I want if I threaten her child, even just one?!"_

"I put it in a loop and erased everything else from the recording – which, by the way, Herbert did by himself. Mickey's phone was set to record voice, and when he took it from her and put it on the bags, it allowed the camera to take over – double Trojan Horse, baby!"

Schafer lowered his head. "YoubrokesomanylawsIcan'teven-" he stopped his mumbling when Commander looked at him. "I was saying- nothing, never mind."

"We are headed towards the SUV, boys," Sophie's voice said; she sounded a little bored. "Finish the game and join us."

"I'm done, too," Hardison said. "I'll head towards you – I only have to wait for the uploading of de Bruin's call records. He had a nasty protection, but I managed to crack it. Any minute now… I _strongly_ suggest you finish this, before they all start to notice all the illogical things, plot holes and motivational flaws in Herbert's actions. Bullshit them with more of everything, and then everyone clear out. As fast as you can. No, Manny, I can't play hide and seek, stay near me…" His voice trailed off along with a quiet giggle through the corridors.

"Commander," Eliot said when the guy gave a sign to his men to cuff Herbert. "We left Natalie's house yesterday morning when she sent us a message to come here, and haven't been there since, too busy with Lieutenant Schafer around the airport. These people mentioned something that made me believe there could be someone in there. Don't know why – maybe to take her computer, or something for blackmail. Maybe you should send someone to check the house before Natalie returns there – or maybe Lieutenant?"

Shit, he'd forgotten the dead body in her house. Schafer bit his lip when Natalie turned to them with a question in her eyes; she was quick to connect things, and this told her something was there. And someone would have to tell her about the death of that kid – probably him. _Just great_.

"The police can handle that," Commander said. "We'll wrap up the airport part."

"Natalie," Nate suddenly said; his first words since the SWAT team entered. Eliot quickly glanced at him, and Hardison's mumbling to Manny stopped too. "We'll explain everything, but Mickey is scared and tired. Take her and leave. Now." That sounded like an order, not a suggestion. Natalie caught that tone, but so did the Commander.

Eliot straightened up. Schafer put his hands in his pockets, feeling the gun.

Something was wrong.

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The ringing in Nate's ears would have covered up every word even if he'd had his headset on and was able to hear Hardison. It was enough to watch Eliot to see how the execution of their plan had gone.

Watching Schafer was an even better clue; Nate could almost tell what info Hardison revealed only by monitoring the cop's eyes. They went from upset to glazed, from panicked to empty stare, faster than the commander and Herbert exchanged their sentences.

The commander's stance was a third good source of information. The group of SWAT cops that held Herbert's men was still alert, not taking their aims off of them, but those who held him and Eliot at gunpoint eased their weapons, allowing Eliot to lower his arms. With each new piece of information, the commander's attention was more focused on Herbert, and his men followed that.

Yet de Bruin seemed to avoid their attention – his men, a little farther back, were not moving. Neither was de Bruin.

All six of them still held their hands on their heads – their SWAT group was not doing anything yet, waiting for the commander's orders. There wasn't any hint of worry on de Bruin's face, just a light smile.

When a gunshot echoed through the hangar, Eliot didn't even bat an eye - Schafer was the one who told him what happened. A confused fear was followed by a blank stare while he listened, then settled on relief.

Nate didn't know what exactly that gunshot meant, but he had a pretty good idea about it.

They were just one step away from getting out of this unscathed, but… he looked again at de Bruin's smile. Something was odd about his ease.

Herbert would go down for this, but Herbert didn't kill and torture Steven. De Bruin did. Herbert was facing severe accusations, though only one, kidnapping, would hold water in court. All this terrorism/robbery/world manipulation and killing puppies mumbo jumbo the team produced was only meant to confuse the SWAT commander and let them clear out. Herbert would probably play a temporary insanity card – in his case, more emphasis more on _insanity_, less on _temporary_. But Natalie would be free and out of danger.

Yet de Bruin was the one who would go down hard. In the hands of the police, finally, with everything that Eliot did to bury him even deeper, he was facing the death penalty. His five men, too. They wouldn't, like Herbert's thugs, go free or get just a symbolic slap – their lives hung by a thread.

They were waiting to fight their way out of this, Nate realized as a sudden fear rushed over him. They had nothing to lose.

"Natalie," he said, unable to fake a smile. "We'll explain everything, but Mickey is scared and tired. Take her and leave. Now."

Eliot automatically caught his tone, but he also instantly knew who was the cause of it, if not exactly how. The hitter's eyes went directly to de Bruin – and worst of all, Nate saw a realization in them when Eliot took in their posture and de Bruin's smile.

Schafer noticed Eliot's tensing into a deadly spring; the cop followed his clue, and waved to Natalie to hurry. She took Mickey and left without turning around.

_No_. Nate's unspoken order to Eliot just added to his rage – the hitter was only seconds from going there, to make sure those cops who still held the Dutchman in their aim finished the job.

It was too dangerous now. They were almost clear, but the SWAT cops that were around them, securing both of them and Herbert's thugs in the middle, still held their fingers on their triggers. Just one wrong move, someone's nerves too thin, someone reacting prematurely, and Eliot would end with a bullet.

Nate quickly checked the SWAT cops around them – the dark visors revealed nothing. They were locked and loaded, still, all their attention on Herbert and his…

No. Not all of them. One of them, covering Nate's group, didn't have his gun aimed at Herbert. His gun only was pointed at the middle of Eliot's chest.

It could be a coincidence. But Herbert knew too much about the airport and the terrorism investigation – he knew which hangar was examined and closed, which one would be perfect for this – because he got a tip. Somebody told him SWAT wouldn't go there again. De Bruin called someone to inform them about Eliot's twenty-minute delay, and delivered all info to Herbert.

And now de Bruin was smiling at Eliot, telling him exactly what he would do next, knowing that the moment his men reached for their weapons, and Eliot moved to stop him, Eliot would be shot down. Collateral damage. Shit happens.

De Bruin's men changed their posture; Nate's gaze swiveled from them to the SWAT cops who stirred, to de Bruin who tensed, to one particular SWAT cop who didn't react at the commotion among his people… and he did only thing he could.

He stepped into the cop's line of fire, turning his back to him, blocking his sight to his target. A bullet would go through both of them, Nate knew that – but that bullet would be fired only if Eliot moved – and the rage on Eliot's face told him he had moved at the last second. He quickly put both his hands on Eliot's shoulders.

"Stay still," Nate breathed, clutching Eliot's shoulders with all his strength. "Stay very still."

He was able to spare just one glance over his shoulder to the back of the hall.

And in just one second, all five of de Bruin's men moved, and hell exploded in gunshots when they spread, surprising the cops, jumping at their guns that lay on the floor. One went down immediately, two of them fell just after, but the remaining men kept shooting, bullets whizzing all across the hall. The two of them were covered by the luggage cart; Nate heard three clonks when the ricochets hit the safes in the bags.

Eliot's stare was riveted at only one point, and when the hitter moved, almost throwing Nate aside, Nate knew de Bruin had reached one of the back doors. "We'll get him later. Not now, Eliot!" He held tighter, adding an order to his voice.

Yells, running, gunfire, screams, everything was deafening though it lasted only a few seconds – but Nate waited for only one sound, a gunshot from behind his back.

It never came.

The gunshots died out.

The silence that fell was disturbed only by the low keening of the wounded thugs.

And at the sound of a loud click from the direction of de Bruin's cop, Nate slowly eased his grip on Eliot, and turned around.

Schafer's left arm was around the SWAT cop's shoulders, pulling him into a hug – the cop's visor was pulled up, revealing a frozen, confused face – and his right arm was outstretched with a phone in it. _The perceptive bastard_. He clicked the phone again, with a maddening, stupid grin on his face, and took another selfie.

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They stopped walking when they caught up with Hardison, because Manny and Mickey had to celebrate their reunion, and hug Natalie all over again – and again. After that, they stopped because Nate said he needed a breather, clutching at his head, but Schafer knew he did that so Eliot could sit for a minute. A short pause gave them all a few moments to say something – and now Schafer was squinting, unable to follow the conversation.

"Stop, will you? Stop. Stop. _Stop_!" Only the last Schafer's yell penetrated through the pissed off voices that all spoke at the same time. "Thank you," he said when the three men turned to him. Only one weak emergency light lit this part of the hangar, the last underground passage before the big door that divided them from their SUV. "You should be celebrating, not fighting."

"This is called a constructive-"

"Constructive my ass! You should've let me get him, now we have-"

"Look, I have proof of the connection, that phone call is already in Schafer's hands, he won't get out-"

Schafer sighed when the three men started talking again, at the same time. Natalie sat on the railings that divided the driveway from the rest of the corridor, holding one girl under each arm – she hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left the hangar, leaving the SWAT team to finish the job. He smiled back. She was gorgeous even when not pissed off.

"What's keeping you?" Sophie's voice echoed from the door; Parker tailed behind her. Great, they got tired of waiting for them by the SUV, and now he would have even more voices to nag around him. "We have to go!"

"Nothing is _keeping_ us." Finally, only one voice answered: Nate's. "We are only settling things, that's all." He turned to Eliot, who was sitting beside Natalie, with his legs outstretched, arms crossed, and radiating frustration in nasty waves. "He _won't_ get far."

"That's what he does for living, Nate. He is a pro."

"He is marked, and Hardison already sent that all over the world. His base is compromised, and his men are gone – Schafer will use his connection in SWAT to find more info - and you even put his DNA in the system. He will get caught very soon-"

"Wait, what?" Schafer asked. "De Bruin's DNA? What did I miss?"

Eliot looked sideways at Natalie. They hadn't told her yet about the dead body. "I took his knife after I cut his face. No fingerprints, unfortunately, but his blood will be enough – especially after I added some more… from a different source." From the victim, to connect him with the murder directly, Schafer mentally finished his sentence. "Sophie took his jacket, I used it to wrap the knife in a bundle, and hid it in the house – it will look as if he tried to hide it himself before he fled the scene. You'll find it, and you'll know what to do with it."

"And I sent you all the info I had on his warehouse," Hardison said. "Contract, lease, everything I found. You can sweep that place for fingerprints and other things, he couldn't erase it all."

"And yet, you will never see him again – unless he wants you to see him." Eliot finished with a grim smile. But then he noticed the girls look at him worriedly, and grinned the right way.

"I'm thinking about making a list of your crimes," Schafer said. "I think jaywalking and murder are the only two you haven't committed in these two days."

"Ah, finally, someone practical," Sophie interrupted with a smile when she joined their group. The warmth that radiated from that woman was blinding, and Schafer had to smile back at her. "As a practical man, Lieutenant, wouldn't you agree that it's reasonable for us to leave this place?" She made small nudging gestures while she spoke, and that moved even Eliot. In a few seconds, she managed to get them all moving towards the exit.

"Natalie, can you deal with our luggage? Nate and I came with a regular carrier, I'll give you info you need," she went on while they walked. "Hardison will send you our aliases so you can pick up our bags and send them to an address in Brazil. I would ask our dear Lieutenant, but he might have a heart attack if he looks inside."

"Of course, I'll be glad to. Is there anything else I can do? I don't know how to thank you at all, I'm speechless. I'm still processing all that happened, and-"

"There, there." Sophie patted her arm. "No need to thank anyone except Lieutenant Schafer here." Her dark eyes darted one calculated look in his direction, and he stiffened. "He was the real hero of this story, my dear. We were just sidekicks."

He felt blood rush to his cheeks when Natalie smiled at him, dazzling as a summer's eve. He cleared his throat. "About that list of your crimes…"

Sophie opened the door, and the storm slashed at them, covering up his words. "And here we are. Time to say goodbye!"

There was a huge, dark green van waiting for them, not Signia's SUV.

"Look what I found!" Parker said when he opened his mouth. "It was lost in the storm. I _saved_ him. I'll call him Lieutenant, in your honor."

Schafer rubbed his forehead. "Promise me you will release… him… into the wild, after you arrive."

"We promise," Hardison growled, but it wasn't directed to him, but at Parker. "We shall have no other vans before Lucille." Then Hardison looked at Schafer and grinned. "We'll send you a postcard when we arrive in Texas."

"Yeah, Texas, right." Schafer nodded. "You have a two-hour head start, then I'm putting out a BOLO on you."

"Fair enough," Nate said. "And now, we're leaving. Get in-"

"No!" Manny gasped, and Nate stopped. The girl ran to him and clutched at his leg.

Everybody froze.

"You have to go to our house, and we can have ice cream again!"

It was weird to hear a breathless silence in the midst of the storm – yet nobody looked directly at Nate and the girl except Sophie; the eyes of his people were studying the sand around their feet with meticulous attention. Nate looked down and reached for the girl, who jumped into his arms; she sat in the crook of his elbow, and waved with her sneakers. "Ice cream?" she said, then added. "Oh, and Ice Age? Now?"

"Maybe some other time, darling," Nate said slowly. His voice sounded thick, but the words came out softer than anything Schafer had ever heard him say. He rubbed his nose with Manny's, causing a giggle and a hug, the ice cream instantly forgotten. That skill needed practice, Schafer realized.

Nate brought Manny back to them, but he didn't give her to Natalie, he delivered her into _his_ arms. Schafer fidgeted with the unfamiliar weight for a second, but Manny wrapped her arms around his neck, and it felt… natural.

Eliot winked at Mickey like he would wink at his partner in crime; Mickey giggled and covered her eyes.

And just like that, with one slam of the van's door, and they were gone.

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Dear God, working on this case would be a bitch – Schafer had no idea how to explain this shit and close the case without revealing too much. He shooed Natalie and Mickey in front of him back to the corridor, and closed the door to keep the storm outside.

Natalie was studying him without a smile now. "Will you really put a BOLO out on them?"

"Yeah, of course – they are dangerous as hell, deadly criminals. These five Latino guys with tattoos in a yellow van have to be stopped."

That returned the smile to her lips. Or maybe her eyes softened because Manny pulled his hair and ear, and giggled.

"I know you have to close the case, and you have so much work to do – but I hope I'm not needed for that today. I'll give my statements tomorrow – now I'd like to take the girls home."

No chance. He yet had to think about how to tell her about her house – and sending her to some hotel wasn't safe, at least not while he wasn't sure all Herbert's men were dealt with. Not to mention de Bruin free somewhere.

"Uhm, no, you can't go there yet… I'll explain everything but not here. And you've been in this airport for two days, so I was thinking – would you consider spending the night at my place, with the kids, while I take care of all the things needed for your return?" He barely managed to stop shifting from leg to leg while she thought.

She watched him for a few seconds, and he knew she knew there was something else he yet had to tell her. He glanced at the girls, then back at her. _Not for their ears_. Finally, she smiled. "Yes, thank you. That would be _lovely_." He knew why that lovely sounded so strange: Yes, thank you, of course I'll stay at the house of a total stranger after I just got my daughters back from being kidnapped. You know, no biggie.

"We will first go to my station, to report that, that… transfer. If you want, I can ask for one female officer for a company and protection – but now, let's move. I don't want that SWAT commander coming here with questions. I yet have to think about the answers."

She nodded. Her smile, this time, was more genuine.

"Will you make us egg-beans boats for breakfast?" Manny asked.

He stopped her hand from putting a Hello Kitty pin in his hair and smiled. "If you show me how."

He led them back out into the storm, to the parking lot where his car still stood from when he was snatched by Parker and Eliot. It was only yesterday morning, for God's sake – and his life had taken a wild turn, bounced, and ended on the right foot, after all.

He glanced at the woman and two girls, and smiled.

The future was strange and terrifying place, indeed.

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"Awww," Sophie cooed as she darted one last wave to the small group they'd left behind. "We shall have 'happily ever after,' it seems," she said before she turned to the back of the van, leaving Nate alone in the front seat to drive.

"Hardison, I need the spread of the storm in this area, and all routes," he said to the back seat. "We're heading west, to L.A. From there we'll take a flight to Portland."

"Incoming."

"I'm hungry," Parker said at his back. "Can we stop and-"

"No."

"But-"

"Maybe after we leave Phoenix – the same city which is still a very unhealthy place for us to be in, BOLO or no BOLO on our heads."

"He wouldn't do it," Eliot said.

Nate knew that, but Parker didn't need more encouragement.

"We could wait a few more hours," Hardison said after he typed for a few minutes full of sulking silence from Parker. "The storm is expected to calm down in the early evening, and the airports will open."

"Nope, we're putting some distance between us and Phoenix," Nate repeated.

Much to Hardison's dismay, this van had seats in the back. It was good for Eliot, though, because the hitter claimed the back row and lay there, using Parker's bags as a pillow. The problem with that resting-all-the-way scenario was that the others had nothing to do.

"So," Nate said. "You did well with this double Trojan Horse. It was… surprising."

"What do you mean, surprising?" Parker asked first. "You told us to do it. Using Eliot as the Trojan, with double-"

"What?" Eliot stopped her. "I wasn't the Trojan in this plan. Mickey was, with the phone as the double."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Hardison almost choked. "I thought Nate was the Trojan, already there, among them, doubled with my USB stick!"

An aghast silence, interrupted only with Sophie's laugh, spread over the van.

"So you're basically telling me," Nate said slowly, looking at them in the mirror, "that my life was in the hands of three people who were doing three different plans, not knowing that the others had no idea about them? Is that it?"

"Four, darling," Sophie said. "Because you obviously had something else on your mind."

"Something else… sort of."

"You're alive," Parker grumbled. "We are geniuses. That covers it."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, leaving them to decipher what amount of irony his words had.

The thing was, their execution was perfect – and that, in spite of all his doubts and fears about them working alone, showed him that they knew what they were doing even when they, actually, had no idea of what they were doing. A terrifying thought.

And this showed him, also, that the two bullets Eliot caught in their first job working alone, wasn't an omen – this ended perfectly safe for everybody. He decided to take that as a hint. One nasty gunshot wound per year – if he counted these recent two as one incident – after three years without any, was way beyond the normal percentage for hitters. They'd fulfilled the quota for this year, and the time to start worrying was after next fifteen jobs.

_You won't be there to see it_, added a voice in his head. _Baby birds are ready to fly_.

But the time for _that_ decision wasn't there yet, so he stopped thinking about it. He had a long drive in front of him, a headache, and a van full of sulking people.

"You didn't tell Natalie to grab the things that the three of you left in your private jet from Washington, like Sophie did with our luggage," he said when he hit the desert road, when Phoenix disappeared behind their backs.

"I called the pilot and arranged the delivery," Hardison said. "I will pay a fortune for that plane and the crew – and none of that would have happened if you hadn't caused a panic and forced us to leave Washington in a hurry. I blame _you_."

"Keep blaming us," Sophie said. "You can sulk all the way to L.A. if you want – but the rest of us can use that time more efficiently."

"Stopping in San Diego's Museum of-"

Sophie sighed. "No, Parker, we are not stopping anywhere. We've had enough of stopping and delays on our way home, don't you think?"

"Then what?"

Sophie's voice turned onto a gentle purr. "We can listen to Eliot's report of his days in Boston, for example."

"Hell no. Over my dead body. Nate!"

Nate looked in the rear-view mirror. "We have five hours and forty minutes to L.A. I suggest you give in now, deal with it, and then spend the rest of the drive sleeping. The alternative is five hours and forty minutes of their relentless nagging, and I am the one who doesn't want _that_."

"But-"

"No 'but.' Talk. "

Nate knew the story already – the parts with Sterling at least, important for the team – but the others wouldn't stop before they got the thorough report. It would, also, be interesting to see how much Eliot would actually tell and reveal to them.

Yet, when Eliot finally gave up and started, Nate had to hide his smile; the hitter opened the story with Betsy, with her role in all those unfortunate events, and completely diverted their attention from Florence's part in it.

For almost one hour, he listened to the quadruple grifting, while all of them used all their powers – and combined powers – to make him tell everything and he fought and diverted all their attempts. Nate could open a grifting academy with this script, if he set his phone to Record.

Some things never changed.

He pulled Herbert's bottle from his pocket, and put it on the passenger seat. He owed Eliot one answer. Their fight about his drinking was still fresh in his mind; pain and anger had whirled in that motel room after their first encounter with Schafer. But not now, not yet – Eliot wasn't ready to hear the truth about his drinking yet. Not the right time. And maybe the right time would never come for Eliot.

The storm stopped as if cut off by a giant knife; one moment they were in a familiar whirlwind, the next they rushed into the blinding sun. Gasps and grumbling spread in the back seat. He smirked, opened the driver's drawer, and found black sunglasses. That was better.

He drove dark green Lieutenant to the west, towards the sunset.

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- THE END -


End file.
